Textbook
by terry.gold
Summary: AU/modern-ish tale of Elizabeth and Darcy where Darcy is from the 19th century but Elizabeth is not.
1. Blackness

Darcy sighed and strode out of his study, candle in hand. He couldn't write any more letters about New York being pleasant to various relatives and acquaintances. Coming here was mistake. It had been too painful to stay in England. It now felt too painful to stay away. He was not pleased with anything in New York; of course he was not. The people were uncouth. The city uncivilized. Even those deigned to call themselves aristocrats were nothing but coarse frauds.

What would Elizabeth think of his observations? He laughed softly to himself. He was being a snob. Yet, she was also. The first time he had accused her of this, she was so surprised she didn't have a witty retort ready. She had just turned on her heel and left the room. He smiled slightly at the memory and knew that Elizabeth find sport in laughing at the members of the New York society. Though call her a snob and she would immediately chide him for his own pride.

He was achingly lonely. He could recognize that now. Before Elizabeth, he had protected himself through disdain and pride. And now that she was gone, he could admit to himself that had really never changed all that much. Elizabeth was a softening influence. He had been happy. Funny how happiness can affect one's character. It had made him gentler in his opinions than before. Slower to cast judgment. But, there was no reason for rose-colored glasses now and he had not the inclination for any pretense. New York and its society was not pleasant and beneath him. He had made a mistake. A very large one too.

Lost in thought, Darcy found himself at then end of the long hallway standing in front of a door that was not familiar. He had thought he was heading towards his bedroom, but now he seemed to find himself in a different wing. Opening the door, he could see nothing but darkness. He squinted to adjust to the dark, holding a candle into the room to see what was inside. Something held him back from entering the room. A strange fit of apprehension. But his curiosity overtook fear when not even the outstretched candle illuminated the expanse of darkness. He took a step even as fear was gripping his chest. Then there was nothing besides blackness.

His first glimpse of light again was blinding and painful. He saw the blurry face of a woman.

"What's your name, sir?" She asked, shining a small light in his eyes and then pulling it away, staring furtively at his pupils. His eyes slowly focused on the face in front of him.

"Elizabeth?" He stared at her in disbelief. "I must be in a dream." He reached to touch her face.

She jerked away. "I'm Dr. Eaton. I'll be taking care of you. Do you remember how you hurt your head?"

"My head…" he trailed off, bringing his fingers to his forehead and feeling warm blood. He realized he was lying down, but felt too weak to move any more.

She grabbed his fingers. "Don't touch it. We still have to stitch you up. Now I'm just going to give you little shot to numb the area." She reached over to a small stainless steel table for a syringe with a large needle. "Remain still while I…" She moved to insert the needle into his skin near the gash. She laughed, noticing Darcy's eyes get wide. "You're not afraid of a little shot are you?" She slid the needle in quickly. Darcy winced. As she cleaned the wound, he murmured, closing his eyes, "This must be some sort of strange dream. I cannot feel my forehead any longer."

She smiled warmly. "I'm afraid you're entirely awake, sir. That's just the shot doing its job. Most people don't want to feel sutures being put in." She looked at this ashen complexion. "Are you feeling ok? You don't look great. Sir, does this kind of stuff make you woozy?"

"No. No. I've had wounds before that needed to be closed. But you would know that, wouldn't you, Elizabeth?"

She was taken back, comprehending his use of her first name again. "Um. I don't think we've been able to be your medical history. You were out for a while." She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. "It's actually Dr. Eaton. I mean, Dr. Elizabeth Eaton."

"Who are you? Where am I? You look so much like Elizabeth, but you aren't her, are you? I don't recognize anything. What is this place? The din in here…" His heart felt like it was suddenly about to burst. His breath turned ragged. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but his muscles gave way.

Elizabeth gently held him down by the forearms. "Sir, I think you are going into shock. You need to take deep breaths. Mark," she turned to the nurse in the corner, "Can you elevate his legs?" She turned to Darcy, looking him in the eyes and laying her hands flat over his heart, "Look at me and focus."

He tried. He really tried to focus, but everything turned black.


	2. Diagnosis

Chapter 2

Elizabeth barely had time to stuff a bag of peanut M&Ms in her mouth when Mark had notified her that her head injury patient had woken up. He had been out for an hour. The hospital was at full capacity. Every nut had come through the emergency room that night along with some gun shot wounds, a nail gun accident, and a guy who had sliced off his toe off by dropping, what she had to guess, was the sharpest kitchen knife in history. "Full moon," someone commented as she jogged down the hall. She was counting down the last 120 minutes left of her shift.

She grabbed the hastily and half-filled out chart outside the patient's door. His name was Fitzwilliam Darcy. A mouthful.

When she came in the room, he was sitting propped up on the bed, brow furrowed in concentration at a TV on in another part of the room. She took a chair next to him. "You're back," She smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Darcy answered, his voice gravely, "I feel as if my head has been stitched up. Moreover, I have no idea where I could possibly be or who any of these people are. In short, I am not feeling well."

Elizabeth exchanged glances with Mark, who was standing on the other side of Darcy, writing down his vitals. "You're in a hospital, sir."

"I gathered that. However, nothing about this is familiar. Everything is wrong and strange. You look like…but you're not. You're different. That's the most unsettling thing. " Darcy felt agitated in his reclining position while Elizabeth and the other man watched him. He was not used to being observed in such a way.

"Can you tell me about your accident?"

"No, I cannot. I know nothing of receiving this injury, madam."

Elizabeth repressed a smirk. She was nothing if not professional, but something about his direct formality made her want to laugh. "Ok. Maybe you've had some short-term memory loss. That can happen. Why don't you tell me what year it is?" she asked.

"1818," he answered without hesitation.

She raised her eyebrows at Mark, over Darcy, which agitated him further. "No, the year. What's today's date?"

"The sixth of February, 1818." He felt confident, but he voice rose in a question he saw their faces.

"Mr. Darcy," she began softly, "the date today is August 6th, 2016. You might have had some head trauma."

She turned to Mark. "Let's get a CT."

Turning back to Darcy she said gently, "Mark is going to take you back to get a CAT scan and check for any bleeding or swelling." He looked at her blankly. "They are going to take a picture of your brain." He still was silent, brow furrowed in thought. "Well, I'll come back and check on you afterwards."

When she patted his hand, in part to make sure he was listening and in part to provide some comfort, he looked her directly in the eyes. "You're coming back, then?"

She looked down at his chart, embarrassed without knowing why. "Yup. We'll figure this out." She smiled and walked towards the door, speaking softly to Mark, "Can you call psych, too, Mark? Maybe this is a prior issue."

"Sure."

She turned to Darcy again, "We'll talk when you get back." And with that she left, leaving him lying on a hard bed only to be rolled out the door a minute later. He didn't possess the energy to try to figure out what was happening to him.

An hour later, Mark met her in the hallway. "Here are the scans."

She held them to the light in the ceiling. "Looks good. No visible brain injury. Did you call psych?"

"They're backed up. Short staffed."

"Well, physically everything is fine. Let's get keep him for an hour and then hopefully we can transfer him to psych. There aren't enough beds to keep him. Rodriguez is going to start complaining."

Elizabeth called to another doctor, Meg, down the hall. Meg was one of the best doctors in their residency and also her closest friend. They met their first year of residency and just clicked. Elizabeth easily pushed the line of career-driven to workaholic, while Meg's easy-going nature reined her back in when necessary.

Meg jogged over, ginger ponytail bouncing, "What's up?"

"I need a consult. I'm not sure what's going. This guy had a head injury, but scans came back negative for any noticeable brain trauma. But he thinks it's 1818, so…"

Meg laughed and then stopped short. "That's not funny. Sorry. Well, let's go talk to him and see if this is an amnesia thing or a delusion."

When they entered the room, Darcy had his head back on the bed, eyes shut, he mouth in a frown. He heard them approach and his eyes flew open. "Sorry," he excused himself sitting up a bit, "I thought I could wake myself up from this dream.

"Mr. Darcy. This is a colleague of mine, Dr. Meg Smith. I just want to get another opinion about what may be happening. So, you said before the year was 1818."

He nodded. "It is. I mean it was. You said it was not. It is…"

"2016."

"I was at my home, in New York, when I noticed a particular door I had never seen. I entered it, of course. All I could feel was blackness and then I woke here."

Elizabeth hesitated, "Mr. Darcy, you were found passed out in an alleyway not far from here with quite a deep gash on your head. You have deep bruises on the right side of your face, including quite the gorgeous shiner. Are you sure that you don't remember anything after leaving your house?"

"No, I didn't leave my house. I entered a room and now I am here. I have no idea what is happening. I do not recall receiving any sort of injury. As far as I knew it was 1818, unfortunately."

"And now you're here in 2016. So, it was like a wormhole in your house?" Meg questioned. Elizabeth shot her a look.

"A wormhole?" Mark echoed.

"Yeah, you know the thing that allows you to travel between universes-"

"I remember Into to Astronomy, too. But I thought it was a bridge to parallel universes, so it would be the same year."

"Well, isn't all just theoretical? I mean maybe you could travel through time," Meg said excitedly.

"Isn't that a black hole?"

Elizabeth interrupted, frustrated, "Ok, maybe we should focus on what we specialize in: _medicine_. I think this man is suffering from a delusion."

"He is wearing clothes from the 1800s…" Mark pointed out

Elizabeth looked at his clothes for the first time. Boots, breeches, linen shirt, wool jacket. She rolled her eyes. "He's not from the 1800s," she stated assertively.

Darcy had been watching the exchange silently. He finally cut in, "I can tell you with all honesty—"

"You're not," Elizabeth snapped and then colored. She was feeling over her head. She thought she knew how to handle cases like this, but something was throwing her off. Maybe it was the way he was just looking at her. Like she would solve everything. Like she was the only one in the room and they weren't two other medical professionals with degrees and experience.

"Elizabeth…" Meg started.

"Maybe a memory lapse?" Elizabeth interrupted her, eager to go back to being the professional handling every patient with ease.

"Like long term memory loss of the last two centuries?"

"Where would the clothes come from? Maybe he's an actor. Maybe he believes in a reality he's constructed due to a heady injury."

Darcy became indignant, ready now to find some semblance of control in the situation. "I know clearly very well who makes my clothes. I know who I am. I can remember everything to the point of falling. I am not mad," he said angrily.

His medical team stared, embarrassed and chastised.

"We're sorry, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said and then turned to Mark and Meg, "I'm going to check on that psych consult. Mark will you get some more history from Mr. Darcy here and fill in some blanks on his chart." With that she left, eager to clear her head. Thirty more minutes until the end of her shift.

By the time she got back to the small room, Darcy was alone, sitting rigidly on the bed looking exhausted and a little vulnerable. Of course, all patients were vulnerable. They were sick and hurt and scared. No one wanted to be in the hospital. But there was something in the expression in Darcy's face. She was overcome with the urge to put her arms around him and soothe him. She couldn't wait to get rid of this guy.

She cleared her throat. "Mr. Darcy, we haven't been able to get that psychiatric consult. You're going to have to stay here a little longer until we get that. A social worker will be over to help you."

Darcy looked at his clasped hands. Elizabeth cleared her throat, "Mr. Darcy?"

"Forgive me, but could you explain psychiatric?"

"It's, ah, well, you know."

Darcy looked at her coldly, "I do not."

"Well, it's a doctor that checks your brain, but more like the emotional state of your brain to make sure everything is…normal. That you're not a harm to yourself or others," He was still looking at her, questioning. "We need to see if you have any brain disorder."

He drew back, offended, "I am not mad. You want to lock me up in an asylum? I am perfectly in control of my mental facilities."

"We're not going to lock you up. We just need to double check the damage you sustained."

"I will not do that. I do not give you permission to do that. I know what happens to men that go to those types of hospitals. I'm leaving now. I'm allowed to do that, yes?"

"You would be checking out against your doctor's advisement."

"I will no longer need my doctor's advisement."

"Listen. You are suffering from an acute delusion—" He made a low noise in his throat, almost a growl. "An acute delusion," she continued, "At least wait for the social worker to come and talk about your options. Do you have a place to go tonight?"

Her question threw him off. He hadn't thought about the world outside the hospital and the probable lack of his house in town.

"Will you stay for just a little bit longer then? See the social worker?"

He agreed. Elizabeth sighed in relief.

A different nurse came in. Shift change. "Hi, Jill."

Jill pulled her aside, "Hey, Dr. Eaton. Your patient here is being checked out. Dr. Rodriguez's orders."

"We're releasing him?"

"Medically he's ok…" She began.

"Yeah, but psychologically he's a mess." Elizabeth snapped and immediately regretted it. She knew Jill was just relaying a message. This whole night she was on the precipice of too much emotion and it was messing with her head. She just needed to go home.

"We don't have the beds," Jill said, irritated.

Elizabeth evaluated the situation for a moment. " Look, I'm sorry. It's been a night, right? Is the social worker coming?"

"That's the plan. Everything is so backed up."

"It's that time of year," She rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably.

"Full moon," Jill said in a mock spooky voice.

Meg came in just in time to inform them there weren't any social workers available until tomorrow.

"What? This is insane. What is he supposed to do?"

Jill shrugged. "There's a shelter down the street. He can stay there."

"Do you think you can handle getting to the shelter?" Elizabeth turned and asked Darcy.

"A shelter?" He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"You know, a place to stay..."

He looked at her wearily, pushing his fingers on his temples.

Elizabeth brightened, "You know, my shift is over in five minutes..."

"Elizabeth..." Meg warned her.

She read her mind. "I'm not getting too involved. I'm just going to give him a ride."

"Can you come here a minute?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and stepped out, leaving the man looking bewildered as ever.

"What are you doing? You don't know him. He could be a creep," Meg hissed.

"He doesn't look like a creep, Meg." They both turned, taking in his 1800s cosplay. "Ok. Better yet, he hasn't acted like a creep. He's just different. But he's lost his memory. He's probably an actor. Maybe he owns a bed and breakfast. I don't think serial killers dress up like a founding father."

"Oh! Maybe he's in _Hamilton_. When he gets his memory straight he can get us tickets. As long as he doesn't murder you first."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

Meg signed, "Ok. I can see you're going to do what you want. Just text me when your done. Or call me if you think you might be getting murdered."

"Got it."

"I gotta see another patient. Be safe." Meg looked at her seriously.

"Scouts honor." She walked back to the bed behind the curtain. Jill was gone.

"Ok, Mr. Darcy. The hospital needs this bed for another patient. You are being discharged. But there's a shelter a few blocks away. I'm going to take you there so you have somewhere to sleep tonight. You can come back in the morning and we can work on this memory issue. The hospital should be calmer in the morning."

He sat there staring at her. He didn't know what to say; all he wanted was to wake from this nightmare. Elizabeth shifted nervously. "How do you feel about that?"

"I will appreciate somewhere to rest tonight. But, I can assure you fully that nothing is wrong with my memory. I can remember...I can remember most of my life until the moment before I ended up here. The problem is not my memory. I'm...displaced. I can only surmise that I am lost." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "I don't know where I am. I don't recognize anything." He trailed off, his face crumpling. He pulled a hand over his face.

She took a step towards him. She wanted to clasp his hands and tell him she would figure it out. He looked so distressed. She remained professional. "Let me take you to the shelter to sleep tonight. Come back tomorrow and a social worker will try to figure this all out. Maybe think about talking to a psychiatrist."

He pinched his eyes closed in frustration. "I will not being doing that. I am perfectly healthy."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Ok. Well, stay here. I need to finish some paperwork and change and then I'll help you get to the shelter."

He only looked at her blankly.

"Will you wait for me then?" She asked.

He nodded. "I will." He paused, "You are my only friend at the moment."

At the word friend she berated herself for getting too involved. She was just going to drop him off at the shelter. That was it. Just giving someone a ride.

AN: I think there has to be a little suspension of belief here. Like, I don't think Darcy would ever move to the U.S. especially in the early 1800s. But I'm American and I'm not really good at writing Regency and I didn't want to write about another culture on top of that. Also, I'm not a doctor. I just watched ER and Gray's Anatomy in my formative years and that is what I know about hospitals. haha.


	3. Shelter

When she came back, the bed was occupied by a pregnant teenager.

"Did you see the man that was here before you?" Elizabeth asked her.

The girl shook her head and Elizabeth slid the curtain closed, scanning the hallway. She jogged over to the nurses' desk. "Hey, did you see a man with…a coat…and a white shirt…he looked like he was from the 1800s."

"Oh yeah. I saw him. He was walking towards the exit." She pointed vaguely down the hallway.

"Ugh. He doesn't even know where he lives," Elizabeth replied already walking towards the doors.

"Sorry. I didn't know," the nurse shrugged.

She ran outside. The night humid and moonless. The only person out there was her attending, Julian Rodriguez, taking a smoke break. Rodriguez was in his late thirties, but already showing a substantial amount of gray in his dark hair. He was an avid smoker, a stereotypical ER doctor who barked orders, and had a look in his eye like he had seen everything. Elizabeth both looked up to him and hated his bitter outlook.

"Hi, Dr. Rodriguez. Did you see a man leave here? Dressed in a costume?"

He shook his head. "I just got out here."

"Oh. Ok." She turned to leave.

"Dr. Eaton. Don't get attached," He looked at her and then turned to take a drag of cigarette.

"Um ok. Thanks for the advice." Was she really getting attached? Taking a patient to a safe place to spend the night was just going the extra mile. If Humans of New York interviewed her at this moment, her post would go viral as an example of overworked doctors, overcrowded hospitals, and amazing service. Ok, maybe she shouldn't let one kind deed go to her head. Modesty was the issue here, not getting "too attached."

She found Darcy minutes later in waiting room sitting stiffly, one leg crossed over the other. He seemed so out of place, the corner of her mouth turned up almost involuntarily in a crooked smile. "There you are."

He stood abruptly and bowed slightly. "Miss Elizabeth."

"It's actually Dr. Eaton." She rolled her eyes, use to the way some male patients treated her but unwilling to accept it.

"Doctor Eaton," he murmured, getting use to the name. He had been proud to refer to her as miss, but he had been wrong about that too, apparently.

"You've been discharged. I was looking for you. I'm helping you to get to the shelter, right?"

"Yes. Excuse me for the inconvenience. They asked me to leave. They were quite firm about it."

"Ok, well, we're here now. Don't sweat it. I already got the Uber. Hopefully they haven't driven away." She started to walk towards the parking lot doors. She quickly noticed she was walking alone. She turned, "Are you coming?"

Darcy sprang forward, noting this was the first time he sprang anywhere since he was twelve. "Yes. Of course." He followed her. "You changed your clothing."

She was wearing loose jeans and a paper thing tee shirt from high school. Elizabeth laughed. "Yeah, I'm not going to stay in the same scrubs I've been for 12 hours. Thanks for noticing. One of my favorite things is getting putting on clothes that don't reek of the hospital."

"I hadn't noticed any reeking."

"Aw, quit it. You're making me blush," she laughed again, joking. She felt strangely giddy. Maybe it was just finally leaving the hospital.

Darcy, however, was feeling as close to giddy as was in his character. Hearing Elizabeth laugh was like turning the clock back two years, albeit briefly. It was like hearing _his_ Elizabeth laugh. That same teasing, joyful laugh he had heard so often during their marriage. The same laugh that haunted him now that she was gone.

They approached a black Honda Civic. Elizabeth opened the door and waved for him to slide in the backseat first.

Darcy stopped, "What is this thing?"

"What? You mean the car? I got an Uber. I'm assuming you don't have a Metrocard on you," Elizabeth replied confused.

"What does it do?"

"This is really a first. It transportation. It takes you from place to place."

"Similar to a carriage."

"Sure," she said, impatient.

"Are you guys getting in or not?" The guy driving barked out the window.

She rolled her eyes and opened the door. He just stood there, looking at her blankly. Elizabeth slid in and gestured to him. "Come on. Get in." He folded his body into the back seat awkwardly. She tried to excuse his awkwardness in doing this common task on his height, but she had tall friends who were able to get into the back seat of a car without contorting their body ridiculously. For a moment, she almost believed that he perhaps had really never been in a car before. But that would be insane. Unless he was Amish.

Looking at him sitting, his knees bent in a way that looked painful against the back of the passenger seat, she knew she should say something to him about a seatbelt, but it just felt too uncomfortable telling a grown man to put his seatbelt on.

As they drove towards the shelter, Darcy was looking intensely outside the window, craning his neck to see the tops of the building.

"Here," Elizabeth reached over and rolled down his window. He pushed his head through the window, the humid air suddenly whipping his face. For the sake of decorum and dignity, Darcy felt mildly embarrassed, but the things around him, the people, the buildings, the light, the smell overwhelmed that part of him. He was at once astonished, intrigued, and frightened.

After a few minutes of this, he confessed, "You don't believe me, I know this. However, I'm not just lost. I've been…displaced." He didn't look at her, knowing how it sounded.

She tried a different approach than snapping 'you're not from the 1800s.' "What do you mean? Like a refugee?"

"I am not familiar with that word."

"It's a person who has to leave their home, but they don't want to…I guess."

"K, here you guys go." The driver pulled over to an empty space on the street. She hopped out of the car, eager for this strange experience to be over.

He got out slowly and the car drove off. She wanted to sprint towards the shelter, but something in his expression stopped her. He was looking at her. Gazing, really.

"What is it?" She asked, the softness of her voice surprising her.

"I see that you do not believe me, but I desperately hope that you can try. I have become displaced in time to a future era."

"I know. It was pretty clear to us in the ER."

"You believe me then? I need you to believe me." His face became hopeful.

She looked down, unsure how to answer. "I believe, that you believe you are from a different time. You have had a head injury. Your test results came back negative for any visible damage, but clearly there is something going on. I just can't believe they released you. I guess it shows how crappy everything is right now. My theory is that you are some kind of actor and your brain injury has you stuck in whatever you've been acting in…I don't know, I've never heard of that. It sounds sort of silly now."

"I am perfectly sane. I know who I am. This is not a fantasy," he pleaded.

She looked at him sympathetically. "It can feel like that. Brains are strange creatures."

He took a step back and straightened his spine. "I take it you can't help me then," he said coldly. His face became expressionless.

Elizabeth felt the change. The loss of his trust felt like a something had been taken from her. She wanted it back. "I am helping you."

"I need to go back where I came from."

"I know. The best I can do is drop you off here and then I can pick you up tomorrow and take you back to the hospital. You just need time. Most patients regain most of their memory with some time."

"Fine. You may escort me to my shelter."

They approached a large brick building. The lights were dim inside and a sign on the front of the building was turned off. Elizabeth's spirits dropped even further: the consequences of getting too involved. She looked around hopefully for a good sign, something to show to Darcy that would help him feel comfortable. Elizabeth could tell they were doing their best to keep the outside neat, but there was graffiti and gang signs spray painted on multiple surfaces. There was a large group of people smoking and a couple them started to shout at Darcy as they passed.

"What sort of place is this?" he whispered to Elizabeth.

"It's for people who don't have anywhere to sleep tonight. Like you."

"A tavern?"

"No. This is free. You're going to get a cot. There will be other people in the room too. It's just a safe temporary place to rest while we- you get your situation sorted out," she explained entering the building.

The inside was clean and bright, which cheered Elizabeth up, although it was a bit damp smelling.

They approached a social worker with a clipboard and a coffee.

Elizabeth spoke nervously. "Hi. Hey, I'm a doctor at Presbyterian. This is Fitzwilliam Darcy. He was my patient. He's experiencing memory loss. No ID. No next of kin yet. There are no beds and we had to discharge him. I was hoping there was an empty bed here tonight."

The social worker looked at his clipboard absentmindedly, "Yeah. Check in is at seven pm. We don't take anybody after that. It's ten. "

"I figured, but we really need an exception—"

Darcy was observing the scene around him. The stench. The sterile, cold rooms. A little past the hallway he could see the open of a room with cots set up and men milling about.

After standing stoically at her side, Darcy cut her off forcefully, "I will not stay here. This is absurd. I am not homeless. I have three houses in two countries."

The social worker smirked, "Good for you, buddy."

Elizabeth felt indignant, protective. "Don't talk to him like that. He's not crazy."

Darcy looked at her, shock registering on his face, "Thank you, Dr. Eaton."

The social worker checked the clipboard. "Look, we have one bed left. You can have it. But, this is an exception. We really can't take anybody after seven. It's not fair to everyone that got here on time."

Elizabeth began to speak, but Darcy interrupted, "No. I cannot. This whole thing is absurd. I'm not sleeping here. I won't. It's beneath me." He felt himself starting to lose control again. His breath became shallow. His heart felt like it was bursting over and over.

Elizabeth was annoyed by his outburst until she noticed his face go white. She placed a hand on his arm.

"You have to calm down. Look at me. Take deep breaths," she soothed, keeping her hand on his arm while putting her other hand to his chest to feel his breaths.

He looked her with slight panicked look in his eyes. She inhaled deeply taking a long breath and motioned for him to do the same. He followed, keeping eye contact with her. She felt her heart skip staring at his face like that. She blushed, embarrassed.

The social worker spoke up when Darcy seemed to have control again. "Look I don't want to be insensitive, but it's almost time for us to close the doors for tonight. So, are you coming in or not?"

Darcy was about to answer, but Elizabeth interrupted. "No. Thanks anyway. Appreciate it." She hurriedly turned away, taking his hand for him to go with her before she changed her mind.

"Elizabeth?" He trailed after her.

Once they got outside she turned to him, running her fingers through her hair. "Do you want to stay with me tonight?" she blurted. "I don't usually do this. I mean this is nuts. I shouldn't do this." She looked away from him. "I just, well I feel…" She looked at him abruptly. "I feel like a I know you. You just have that kind of face I guess. You better not turn out to be a psychopath," She laughed at her joke, but stopped suddenly when she realized it wasn't a joke at all.

"If it brings you comfort, I have never been called a psychopath before. I will assume it does not describe my character. Take comfort in the fact that I am a gentlemen and my reputation as a gentleman has never been besmirched," he paused, suddenly uncomfortable, "but, Dr. Eaton, is this proper? I would hesitate to do anything that would mark your own good standing. "

She let out a short laugh, "No. No, it's not. But I'll be fine—we'll just keep this between us. Let's get something to eat first before I invite you to stay in the same place I will be unconscious for eight hours. Maybe we can get to know each other better."


	4. Sustenance

They grabbed burgers at Shake Shack, eating them outside on cold metal tables. The hum of the city was all around them. Darcy was beginning to get used to the constant noise.

Elizabeth sighed. "This is my favorite place. I would almost feel kind of guilty eating here so much when I live in the city with the best food on the planet if it wasn't so good." She took a bite out of her burger and watched as he sat helplessly before the food.

"You just use your hands," She explained. "You know, pick up and…eat it."

He didn't move.

"Here, let me." She got up from the table and brought back a plastic fork and knife. "Does this help?"

"Thank you," he said quietly, waiting for her to begin eating before carefully cutting his burger into tiny, neat pieces, comforted by an action he could do well. Elizabeth, on the other hand, used a fork to grab three cheese fries and shove them in her mouth. Maybe she would be more self conscious at her lack of comparable grace if she hadn't just got off a twelve-hour shift and she wasn't one hundred percent sure he was at least a little out of his mind.

"This good," he murmured.

"I know. It's all sugar and salt. Another reason I should feel guilty eating here."

He nodded, not really knowing how to respond.

"You can try some of my cheese fries," she offered.

He shook his head 'no' and continued taking his small, careful bites.

After a couple of minutes of silent eating, Elizabeth had to talk. Was this quality a personality fault or attribute, she briefly wondered to herself. Should she just let the poor guy eat? "So, tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. Where are you from? Obviously from your accent, you're not from New York. What's your family like? Did you go to school? What do you do for fun beside dress in period costume?"

"It's not a costume," he answered, perturbed by her teasing when his life was maddeningly unrecognizable. "I had thought by your words at the shelter that you changed your mind about me."

Her cheeks flushed, caught by her inconsistent behavior. If she was honest with herself she didn't know what she actually believed. She only knew what she couldn't believe: a man traveling through time. "Actually, I said you're not crazy. Which is not the same thing, but let's not talk about that. Talk about the things that make you feel calm. I think it's best you avoid stress."

Darcy studied her face for moment in confusion. "I am from the Derbyshire in England," he began. "I was born in 17- I came to New York City a few months ago as an endeavor to start afresh. I have one sister who is married and lives with her husband's on his estate. The last I heard they are expecting a child soon-"

"Congratulations! Do you know if it's a boy or girl yet?"

He gave her a confused look, "I only said they were expecting."

"Oh. Right. No ultrasounds two hundred years ago. So what did you, I mean, do you do for a living?"

"As a first son, I inherited my family's land. No profession, but I do- did manage the estate."

"Charming. What does that entail?

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I did keep track of the expenses and tenets. I came to New York to purchase some land in hopes of doing the same. However, it has not been what I expected."

"Why not?" She asked, noticing how good looking he was for the first time as she looked at him. He had a strong jaw and pleasant mouth. His hair was dark and cropped closely to his head. Staring at his face, she suddenly had déjà vu. The feeling passed before she could grasp it.

"I should have never left my home," he answered curtly.

They silently ate for a few minutes longer until Elizabeth could stand it no longer, "So, what do you like to do?" She winced at the childish question. She suddenly felt awkward, like she didn't know where to look or what to do with her hands. What had changed so suddenly?

He looked at her in confusion, fast becoming a permanent facial expression. "Like to do? What do you mean?"

"What do you do for fun? Do you have hobbies?"

He shrugged. "I suppose what any gentlemen does for amusement: billiards, fencing, read. No one has ever asked me that. Most of my life has been devoted to responsibility. Well, I do enjoy a good ride through the country, but even then it is usually a means to an end."

They were silent for another moment, until he prodded, gently, "And, you?"

She looked up and he was looking at her so intently she had to look down. 'This is ridiculous,' she thought to herself. She forced herself to meet his eye as she would with any person she was sharing a meal with. "Oh well, I don't have a lot of free time lately." She shrugged. "I'm a emergency room resident, er, doctor. I used to read a lot. Now I just tell myself to read more a lot," she gave a little laugh. "I like hiking and rowing. I was actually on the rowing team in college. You know, like rowing a boat," she added when he furrowed his brow. She pantomimed rowing until he seemed to understand. In his case, Darcy, did understand what rowing was, but had trouble imagining a woman doing it. "I grew up in Philly. Went to college in Philly. Med school in Boston. Got a job in New York. This is getting boring."

"Not at all."

She shrugged, "I guess my new hobby is taking in strays. Maybe not a great hobby." She laughed awkwardly and cursed herself inwardly. She went back to her task of ripping the mostly shredded napkin on her lap.

"Dr. Eaton, may I tell you how grateful I am for your company and graciousness? I know I have been a burden. Something tells me this," he gestured between them, "is not common practice for a doctor of this time."

She let out a bark of a laugh, "No. Not at all."

"You must allow me to make it up to you."

"I'm not sure what a man from the 1800s with no money or home can do to help me, but I will let you know."

He didn't know how to respond, so he went back to cutting his food carefully.

"Sorry, I meant that as a joke. It wasn't funny."

He didn't respond and they ate in silence for a few long minutes, which Elizabeth tried to pretend she was okay with until she couldn't anymore.

"I can't call you Fitzwilliam," she blurted.

"Why not? That is my name. Do you prefer calling me Mr. Darcy?" he smirked. "I've been observing that that formality isn't common for this time."

She rolled her eyes. "No. Of course not. Fitzwilliam is a mouthful and it's long. Didn't you ever have a nickname growing up?"

"No," he paused, "Not really. Some have called me Darcy. My cousin, for example. I only have a few close friends. My wife always called me Fitzwilliam in private company."

"In private company? Fitzwilliam is so formal. Why only in private company?"

"There are certain ways to address certain people at certain times." He smiled at the repetitiveness of his words, but Elizabeth missed the joke.

"Hmm."

"You disapprove."

"No. I mean I can't. It's a different time, right? I just wouldn't want to have all those formal rules."

"Rules help navigate social situations. It can prevent embarrassment or offense. I'm sure there are many rules in your society that you follow blindly and perhaps even without awareness"

"Sure. That's probably true. I just hate formality. Maybe I follow the rules, but resent silly rules all the same."

"The simple solution is to use propriety and follow them. I'm sure that even though your society might not have strict formalities of addressing certain persons, there are still rules. The world cannot have changed that much. For example, you prefer that I call you Doctor and not by your first name."

"That's a doctor patient relationship thing. Plus, a woman thing. I find more men trying to call me by my first name. I guess I'm on the defensive. I've earned that title."

"I understand," He gave her a small smile.

"Anyway, you can call me, Elizabeth. We _are_ eating together."

He brightened, murmuring, "Elizabeth." After a moment he asked, "Do all ladies work?"

"Sure. Most," she shrugged.

"Female doctors are an interesting notion. I wouldn't have even fathomed it yesterday and then, today, you are my doctor. A female," he laughed a little, looking down at his food. "What other professions are open to females?"

"All of them? Well, 99%. There are some sports issues. But besides that, all of them. And the upside is you only make 30 cents an hour less."

"Ah. That is good. Do you like working? My wife, obviously, didn't have a profession. Well, neither did I," he laughed softly. "She always found things to do though. She seemed busy."

"You're married?" Elizabeth brightened. "Why haven't you brought this up? We could try to locate her. Even a description…maybe she can-"

He cut her off, "She is dead." He winced at his cold voice. He had never had to say the words out loud with such finality, without the soft cushion of a euphemism. Mostly he just referred to himself as a widower. It had been a confusing day. Really, a terrifying day, if he let himself dwell on it for very long. Added to that, this doctor looking so much like Elizabeth, his Elizabeth and almost acting like her, in a removed way was making his head swim. Everything was very perplexing.

"Oh," she looked down after this piece of information, berating herself for not heeding the past tense of his sentences. She reached across the table and touched his hand gently, "I'm sorry."

It was his turn to look away.

"Well, can I call you Darcy then?"

He looked back at her for a long moment. A moment longer than what she was comfortable with. Her heart sped up and she blushed. "Yes. Yes, you may." He smiled.

'For being from the 1800s, he has nice teeth,' she thought. 'Wait. That's not possible.' She shoved the cheese fry in her facing hoping to disguise the blush.

She swallowed the now cold mass of fried food. "You know what's strange? I keep getting déjà vu, like I've done this before, or least like I know you. I feel a strange combination of both awkward and comfortable. I mean, I don't mind talking to you. Now I'm rambling."

"I do not find that so strange," he answered.

"You don't? We are strangers. You were my patient. You think you're from 1818. I don't know you at all. I should be scared of you."

"Why should you have reason to be scared?"

"Well, all the reasons I just said. I most certainly should not have you stay the night in my home."

"No you probably shouldn't. How will your family receive me?"

"My family? They're in Philadelphia. Yeah, I'm probably not telling my family this."

"If don't live with your family, then with whom do you reside?"

"Just myself," she said proudly.

"A woman living all on her own. You must be very wealthy." He blushed. "Excuse me, that was improper."

She laughed. "I am definitely not wealthy. I'm 28 and this is the first year I'm living alone."

"How do you like it?" he asked, his voice low.

She was flushed again. She wasn't even sure why. "Um. I like it. I work so much, I don't have time to be lonely." She stood up. "Hey, want to get a shake and go? I've got to get some sleep."

"Please, lead the way, Elizabeth."

…


	5. Repose

"So this is it," She gestured to the small apartment. It was a 5th floor walk up and tiny, but she could finally live alone for the first time in her life. There was a blue velvet sofa that was a gift from her parents, a tiny TV hanging on the wall, a worn leather chair, and a bookshelf stuffed unceremoniously with books and tchotchkes. She shrugged self-consciously. "This is the living room," She turned and took a few steps "…kitchen…bathroom….um this is my bedroom. It's a mess." She shut the door quickly. "It's tiny, but I do have three rooms."

"Impressive," Darcy commented. They were silent for a moment before he commented again, "I never imagined it would be so small. This is wildly inappropriate."

Elizabeth snorted. "Shouldn't I be saying that? I have definitely crossed the line of the doctor/patient relationship. You should be doing everything you can to make me feel comfortable." She gave him a wryly smile.

"Oh, yes. My gratitude is there. I just have never spent the night in such small confines with a woman with whom I am not married. Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever spent the night with anyone in such small confines." He smiled slightly, teasing.

"Hey. It's not that small. You should see other apartments in Manhattan. We could be sleeping on the same futon. Not that we would." She rubbed her neck, embarrassed. "The point is I have a couch _and a bedroom._ " He looked at her skeptically, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm not sure you're getting this, but it definitely sells your time traveling story that you don't."

He walked around the living room/kitchen with his hands still clasped behind his back, studying her furnishings and décor. He stopped and looked at her thoughtfully, "Ah, I rescind my claim I haven't resided anywhere this small. My room on the ship that brought me to America was this small."

"Thanks for clearing that up. I was worried you'd get claustrophobia."

He furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Um. When you're afraid of small spaces," she explained.

"I am afraid of only real things," he said dryly.

"It is real. I kind of have it."

"How does one only "kind of" be frightened of something?"

"Well, it has to be really small. Like a mine. You know, where you did for gold or something? Anyway, one time I went on a tour of this mine in this tiny town in Nevada and I had to run out, I was panicking and I couldn't talk myself out of it. But, I'm not afraid to be inside an elevator."

"Interesting," he commented.

"Is it? I'm probably boring you, but you're kind of easy to talk to."

Darcy let out a low, almost musical laugh, "I don't believe anyone has attributed that quality to me before."

Elizabeth smiled. "Maybe I'm just nervous then. I can talk a lot when I'm nervous."

Darcy grabbed Elizabeth's hand without thinking, "You needn't be nervous, Elizabeth."

Her heartbeat climbed quickly and she jerked her hand away. Immediately she felt the loss of his touch. "I'm going to…wash my hands in the bathroom. You can just have a seat. There's a magazine on the side table. I'll bring you some clothes to change into in a sec."

She almost sprinted into her tiny bathroom. The realness of the situation coming down on her. How exactly did she get here? This could be defined as too attached. Her phone vibrated. Meg texted, " _Are you dead?!_ " Elizabeth couldn't tell her she took Darcy home with her. Who brings a 33 year old man with her home? He wasn't a puppy. It wasn't even some kid. This was a full grown man who actually could be crazy. But she didn't believe that. It was a head injury. He wasn't going to hurt her. He needed help, she argued with herself. There was no way to know if he was going to hurt her or steal her awesome 20 inch TV. But she didn't believe it. There was something about him. He seemed familiar. She felt like she already knew him. Nope, that was crazy. Still, her gut was telling her she was fine. A combination of instinct and science had gotten her this far in life. She snorted at the thought out loud.

Darcy's mind was also racing with fear but also with hope. He didn't know why, but the longer spent with her, he could feel this Elizabeth was a version of _his_ Elizabeth. Not only in looks, but in the way she made him feel. Her laughter. Her easiness and warmth. Her generosity. The glint her brown eyes. The same brown eyes he so ardently adored. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the possibility and the ramifications of such a possibility. Also, the lunacy. Maybe he was mad.

He grabbed the magazine she referenced. As he flipped though its pages he was stunned and also supremely embarrassed that Elizabeth would know he looked at these pictures and, at the same time, that she would dare offer the contents to him freely. Was this a mark on her character or the society in which he found himself? He heard the bathroom door creak open. He threw the magazine back down on the side table, deciding to avoid any conversation about the magazine and the contents it contained.

"What's wrong?" She said behind him.

"What gives you an impression that something is wrong?"

"You just threw my magazine."

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "That magazine was lewd." His face flushed.

Elizabeth laughed until she noticed Darcy's face. "What? It's a fashion magazine."

"It is full of unclothed women."

"Oh brother, I didn't give you a Playboy. It's Vogue." She went to the kitchen to put on the teakettle.

"This is common for the modern world?"

"I just wouldn't go around calling every woman you see on the street tomorrow as lewd. I want to remind you it's August in the city. We're dressing to stay cool here. Aren't you hot?" she gestured to his wool coat.

"I'm perfectly fine." He thought for a second. Part of him wanted to peruse the topic of propriety and modesty, but he suddenly he was exhausted. "Can I assist you at all with this task?"

"Nope. I'm just waiting for the water to boil." He looked perplexed. "Ok, see this is a stove." She gestured to the small, gas stove, the teakettle perched on top. "It gets hot and other things get hot."

"Then there is a fire inside to warm the kettle?"

"Um, no. It's just electricity. Don't ask me too many questions. I'll hit a wall."

The kettle went off and she went through the ritual of making tea as she did every night. She made him a cup and offered it to him.

He took a sip, grimacing. "What is this?"

"It's tea. It's chamomile."

"I don't prefer it. Do you have anything stronger?"

"Like liquor?"

"Some brandy would help calm me, yes."

"Yeah, I'm not giving someone with a fresh head injury alcohol." She drank her tea, a part of her calming with the routine.

He scowled.

"You are demanding for someone relying on the kindness of a stranger."

"My apologies. My nerves." He stopped and gave her a knowing smile that quickly turned into a frown when she just stared back at him. He inwardly cursed himself for the joke. He knew she wasn't _Elizabeth_ , but he couldn't seem to stop himself. As long as he didn't impulsively kiss her goodnight, he might be able to get through this night.

"Yeah, I'm already operating way out of the norm here. Let's skip the alcohol." She thought for a moment, "Ok, well, are you okay with sleeping on the couch?"

He shrugged, "I have never slept on _a couch_ ," he mimicked, "but I'm certain I will be fine."

"Um. Ok. It's late. I'm going to change." She looked at his attire. "Oh right, I was going to give you clothes to sleep in."

"I am perfectly capable of sleeping in this," he protested.

"Don't worry about it. I have some of my brother's clothes from when he stays in town. I think you'll fit in them. Well, the pants might be a little short."

She brought him sweat pants and a tee shirt and showed him the bathroom. With the door shut, she let out sigh and flopped on the couch. She was suddenly very anxious. She picked up her lewd magazine and waited for him.

When he came out, she felt herself grow a little calmer. "This is a lot less strange when you are wearing normal clothes."

She patted the couch beside her and he sat down. "Cozy?"

"Very."

"Good." They were silent for a moment when she felt the need to fill it. "I can't believe I did this. But I keep thinking about my own feelings, how are you feeling?"

He looked at a landscape print on the wall. "Tired. Worried. Overwhelmed." He paused, willing his courage to grow, "Optimistic."

"Optimistic?"

He studied her face. Taking a long moment before answering. He was unsure if he should share the connection he felt to her, but everything in him was begging him to do so. "You said you felt like you knew me."

She laughed weakly, "Yes, I guess, that's how I feel."

"I'd like to confess…" he started and then started over, "My wife, she passed away last year. She died giving birth to our son. He died three days later."

"Jeez. Wow. I'm sorry. That's really hard." She disappointed with her lack of an appropriate response.

"It is still very difficult. I loved her…vehemently."

She didn't know why, but she felt tears in her eyes. It was strange to feel such a visceral response to his story. It wasn't that she was cold hearted, but she faced life and death every day. Since becoming a doctor a few years ago, she witnessed so much heartbreak. She learned to steel herself and stay professional in the face other's grief. She was embarrassed for her tears. She looked away, angry now for the tears that trailed down her cheeks. It was selfish of her; it wasn't her story. But to her surprise, he took her chin in his hand and turned her head gently towards him. With his thumb he brushed a tear off her cheek. In the back of her mind she knew she should jerk away at the unearned tenderness of a stranger, but at the moment he didn't feel like a stranger.

"Elizabeth…I don't know how to express this. You and my wife have such a striking resemblance I feel as if I am in her presence. Her name was Elizabeth also. It's not just those superficial physical traits. You said you felt as if you and I were already acquainted. I too, feel as if I know you. Your mannerisms. Your facial expressions. Your voice. Your very essence… I'm overwhelmed to be…in a different time. I am also overwhelmed, perhaps more so, by your presence. What if…What if you were her?" At that, she scrunched her nose and moved away, he tried it another way. "I don't know what that means or even if it's true…I have never believed anything like this could happen. But, I'm here. I can't explain that. I am just clinging to what I know now. This is was I know."

"I don't know what to say. This started out crazy and it's just getting worse." His face fell. "Look, I don't mean to cavalier. But you can't expect to me to…I just don't know what to say."

"You're right. Your kindness has been astounding. I shouldn't have burdened you with this."

She reached over and touched his knee. "Hey. I'm exhausted. Let's go to sleep. We'll figure out what to do in the morning."

He was staring at her again. Just a look too long. In a grey tee shirt, she finally saw his face, really saw it. It's funny how you can look at person and never truly see what they look like. She had this realization with acquaintances she's known for years, but never really _saw_ them. But, there was something familiar about Darcy's face. Something new too. Like she was seeing it for the first time and like she had seen its lines a million times before. The planes and curves of his forehead and chin. Dark brown eyes and a straight nose. Slightly tanned skin and high cheekbones. Rough stubble running across his jaw and a little down his neck. He was good looking, for sure. Especially without the 19th century clothing. She felt her own heart beat a little faster as she sensed him move slightly forward. Her own body moved forward, seemingly from its own accord. Her phone buzzed on its place on the coffee table and she moved back, grabbing it quickly.

"Let me get you some sheets." She bounced off the couch and into her room where she kept the sheets.

In ten minutes everyone was comfy cozy in their respective beds. Neither fell asleep that night without some significant tossing and turning. Darcy, finding himself moved through time that day, but strangely enough thinking about a girl. Elizabeth, having invited a patient, who thought she was his dead wife, to her home to sleep, and, embarrassingly enough, was thinking about the handsome furrow in his brow in the strange brief second she thought about kissing him.


	6. Evaluation

A/N: Thanks for your sweet comments and help!

In the morning, it was decided that Darcy would come back to the hospital at the beginning of Elizabeth's shift to get a psych eval. Darcy was resistant, but eventually folded with Elizabeth's insistence that he would not be checked in to an insane asylum. Having done a psych rotation, she was pretty sure he would not be involuntarily checked into the psych ward as he did not pose a danger to himself or others. She was hoping that a social worker at the hospital would have a viable solution for a person who had no family and thought they were in the wrong century. And now she had new information that she would probably not volunteer to a fellow doctor: the patient imagined that his doctor was his dead wife reincarnated.

Darcy also agreed not to divulge voluntarily or without prompting that he spent the night on Elizabeth's couch.

This was all discussed after the question of what constituted breakfast was resolved. Exhausted from staying up too late and waking up to a still, dark morning, Elizabeth murmured a good morning to an already up and dressed Darcy. She was glad she thought to give him the only pair of men's jeans she had: a slightly too short pair her brother had left during his last visit from Philadelphia.

She poured herself and him a bowl of Cheerios and unsweetened almond milk (she was lactose intolerant) and set it down in front of him. He stared. "This one isn't hard," she said, yawning, "You just eat it with a spoon."

He took a bite and made a face. "No thank you."

"What do you mean, no thank you?"

"I do not prefer this. It is quite bland. May I have a different choice?"

"We just have Cheerios around here, sorry."

Darcy resumed eating, trying to fight a sour look on his face.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, thinking this must be the most fastidious homeless man in the city.

Now it was her first break on a slow morning and Darcy was safely in with a psychiatrist and Elizabeth was free. He wasn't her responsibility any longer. But to say that she wasn't thinking about him would be a lie. She did her best to focus on the patients she had and the paperwork that was always piling up, but the slow morning let her thoughts wander where they would have easily went with even with more to do.

She went for some coffee in the lounge. Meg was in there with another doctor in their residency, evidently locked in debate.

Meg turned to her as she entered the room, "Do you believe that dreams mean something? Chris here has the gall to make fun of me for saying so."

Elizabeth answered, "Uh, Meg. We're doctors. Scientists, right? No, dreams are just your brain breaking down your day. I don't think your subconscious is capable of sending a message on its own accord."

"Exactly," Chris said.

"Just because we believe in science, doesn't mean there isn't more to the world than what we can observe. The night my Gram died- before I knew she had died- I had a dream about her. I was 14 and we were super close. I dreamt we had this great day together. In a weird way, it was like our last day together. It was that lucid."

Elizabeth sat down. "That's actually pretty cool. I'm not saying I believe it was sent by the universe or a higher power or anything, but that's pretty cool."

"I hardly ever dream and if I do I forget the instant I wake up," Chris commented.

"Then you're opinion doesn't really count, does it?" Meg said archly.

"What! I-" Chris began ready to start another argument.

Elizabeth cut him off, "You know, I've always had the same dream."

"Really? Like every night?" Meg asked.

"No, I mean, it's more like a reoccurring dream. I've had since I was in middle school, maybe."

"Tell us about it," Chris demanded.

"I'm walking through a hallway. But it looks more like a museum I guess. It's long and filled with paintings. You know, I never realized I thought it was a hallway even though it doesn't really like look like a hallway at all. That's funny, isn't it? Anyway, I'm walking down this hallway…er, museum, whatever, and I can hear people in the background. Like a party. There's music too. And this man suddenly grabs my arms from behind. He shouts, 'Don't leave.' But he's right behind me, so it's strange that he shouts and it scares me. I try to turn around, but I can't and then, there's nothing. Just black. I usually wake up after that."

"That's creepy," Meg shivered.

She shrugged. "Sometimes it is. Sometime it isn't. It feels almost like a memory now. I've dreamt it so much."

"I have dreams like that. Well, not reoccurring ones, but it feels like I've had them before even though I can't remember when," Meg said.

"See. Our brains act similarly. It's not a message from the unknown," Elizabeth replied.

"Ok. Sure," Meg rolled her eyes. "But let's talk about this guy in your dream. What does he look like?"

"I'm out of here," Chris said, standing up and throwing his coffee cup away.

"Uh, see ya. So…the guy?"

When the door shut Elizabeth chided Meg. "You don't have to so bristly to Chris."

Meg groaned. "I can't help it. He's an ass. And I slept with him. Now it's like he has the upper hand."

"That's sexist crap that a woman loses power after sex."

"Yeah, well, it feels true."

"I think he likes you," Elizabeth smiled over her coffee cup.

Meg pursed her lips, "Back to the real subject. What does the guy you've been dreaming about since you were in middle school look like?"

"Actually, I don't know exactly. He's sort of faceless."

"Then how do you know it's the same man?"

"I don't know. I just do. He has dark hair. He's tall."

"Boring. More details, please," Meg frowned.

"It's probably based on some movie I saw when I was a kid and my brain just clung on to it, even though I've forgotten the actual memory of experiencing that scene."

"I think you should be a little more open to…" Meg shrugged, trailing off.

"To?"

"To…stuff. I don't know. Not everything fits a textbook definition. You should know that."

"Well, not everything does. But the world makes a lot more sense from a scientific perspective." Elizabeth shrugged and got some more coffee.

"Oh! So what happened with the guy who lost his memory last night?" Meg asked eagerly.

Elizabeth's face reddened. Meg was her best friend, but she couldn't tell her what she did. Not yet anyway. "I dropped him off at the shelter with the address and number of the hospital social worker. I think he's going to have a psych eval today," she said without making eye contact.

"Wait. Why are you acting weird? That's all? Why didn't you text me back?"

"I know. I'm sorry. It was late and I guess I'm a little embarrassed that I did that. Take him to the shelter, I mean."

"It was nice. You didn't get raped or murdered, so I think you are in the clear," Meg smiled.

Elizabeth gave a small laugh, "Thanks. That should be the measure of success in everything I do."

"So, did you guys talk some more? Did you find anything more about him?" Meg took a quick look at the clock in the corner. "Oh, but I better go start rounds. We can chat more later," she said quickly, washing out her coffee mug and leaving the room.

Luckily, Elizabeth was able to avoid her the rest of the day.

A couple hours later, Elizabeth after finished up with a patient complaining of a cough and running nose ("That's a cold, sir. I can't give you Vicodin for it"), Elizabeth spied Darcy standing at the nurses' desk. He had a mask of cool reserve, until he glanced her way and spotted her and his eyes lit up. Her heart sped up in response. She told herself it was from anxiety of being caught being too involved with a patient.

"Elizabeth," he said, not shouting, but loud enough a nurse glanced up. She looked around, worried someone would recognize him from last night or Meg was going to walk by and know she lied to her face.

"Darcy," she half hissed, taking his arm and leading him to the lobby, where there were less of her colleagues milling about. "I'm at work. We talked about this. We were going to meet a block away. You're early too. We're supposed to meet in an hour."

"Oh, for God's sake, Elizabeth. Is this secrecy truly necessary? It feels disreputable."

Elizabeth's mouth dropped open at his open defiance and the familiarity they were already establishing with one another. "Yes. It is necessary. These things aren't really done. Plus, I don't want to explain it to a bunch of doctors who are going to think I'm crazy for this." She looked around. No one was paying attention. "Let's go. Follow me."

She led him out through the ambulance bay and around the corner of the building.

"Listen. I lied to my friend. The other doctor from last night? I told her I dropped you off at the shelter."

"That's not like you to lie. Deception is-"

"I'm just not ready to admit what happened. I mean I feel like I crossed a professional line." She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "Plus, you don't even know me. Maybe I lie all the time."

His eyes searched hers. "No. No, I do not think so."

"Your wife was very honest?"

"We both agreed that deception is abhorrent, yes."

She glanced at her watch. "I have to go back in a few minutes. What happened with the psychiatrist?"

"They told me that I've been cleared."

"Did you tell them that you don't remember where your home is or who your family is?"

"That's not really true. I told them truth. They recommended I come in next week for a follow-up."

"But…But what are you supposed to do until then? Where will you stay?"

"I am not certain."

"Ok. Ok. Let's think about this." Her brow furrowed in concentration and then she narrowed her eyes, "Hey," she started, suspicious suddenly, "say you have been transported through time. Why aren't you more concerned? Don't you want to go home?"

"I do, but I also have a reason to stay," he said softly, ducking his head.

She looked down. "Oh. Right." Her face reddened. She knew how she would feel if she were an outsider watching this whole fiasco. Darcy's words right then were bizarre, creepy even. This was the part of the movie where the audience yells 'don't go in the basement, idiot!' except now they would be yelling 'walk away from this guy, idiot!' But she couldn't. She didn't want to think about why or try to rationalize it. She was just going to run on instinct for a moment and hope it worked out. And not overanalyze it either.

There was a silence between them. Darcy did not have any recommendation on what to do next in terms of his own self and Elizabeth. He was completely beholden to her at this point. The thought discomforted him. He stole a glance at her. He was living off of hope. He had no back-up plan. She was clearly pondering her next move. Her dark hair was tied back from face. It was straight now instead of curly like it had been when they were married. He had loved her hair. It felt like a present for him; pinned up during the day, but when they were alone, she always shook it loose for him. Not even braiding it for bed, much to her maid's dismay, she had mentioned to him a few times. But her hair was still the same rich brown color. So dark, it looked black indoors.

She shoved her hand in her pocket and pulled out her phone, moving her fingers across the screen. "Take an Uber back to my apartment and wait for me there. We'll figure this out later. I can't now. Can you remember my address? It's East 524 and 5th*. Eat out of the fridge. Take a nap. Watch TV. Just stay put and we'll figure this out."

He impulsively grabbed her hand. "Thank you."

She jerked her hand away. Surprisingly, the touch was not unwanted, but the bolt she felt when he touched her was startling.

"Forgive me," he murmured.

"Don't sweat it." But she couldn't look him in the eye. She stared hard at her phone. "Um, they should be here in three minutes. It will be a white car. They will pull up right here. Just hop in the back. It's already paid for. The driver will take you to my place. He has the address and all that." She glanced up to look him in the eye, but his unwavering gaze, made her look down again. Ordinarily, if a guy looked at her this way, she would be creeped out. At this moment, well, it wasn't comfortable, but it also made her heart skip excitedly. She felt like she was going crazy.

"Then I will just wait here. What time should I expect you?"

"I get off at 6. I'll be back by 6:30. So you have a couple hours to kill. Just stay in the apartment."

"I will."

The Uber pulled up. "Ok. Good. I will see you tonight." She hurried away eager to get away from him and throw herself into work.

Darcy sat quietly in the back of the car. The act of being driven at least was familiar and he could take comfort in that.

*Totally random address. Don't Google it. Don't tell me if it's not even an apartment building ;)


	7. Definiton

AN: It's so fun to read your comments. I will just say Darcy has been transported through a wormhole, and not one that is really followng the laws of wormholes. It's never really going to be confirmed because I don't want to get scientists/govt. involved and have this become a P&P E.T. haha. Also, I don't think anyone besides Elizabeth will ever truly confirm he is from the 1800s. There really is no medical way to know this about a person who is alive that I know of. Lastly, I really appreciate your reviews :)

He arrived at the apartment, walking up the four flights of stairs and moving the dirty mat to find the key. It was strange to be alone here. The strangeness of everything washed thoroughly over him. He felt homesick. He was homesick for a place where he was respected, where he was knowledgeable. He was homesick for his own clothes, despite the irrefutable comfort of his borrowed clothing. He was homesick for his valet and steward. He was homesick for a time that didn't exist any longer; Elizabeth and their life together at Pemberley. But here Elizabeth was still living and it was a comfort to be around her again.

Darcy took the opportunity to tour the household at his leisure. It took all of one minute, especially as he avoided the bedroom out of respect for her privacy. He knew people managed to live in enclosed spaces like these. His own tenants in England often had spaces just a bit bigger for whole families. He just couldn't fathom living somewhere this small for a long period of time. Just thinking of it made him long for his study at Pemberley. His library. His own apartment rooms, which he now thought of with irony, knowing that Elizabeth also called this her "apartment."

With a compulsion that he knew was the opposite of restraint, Darcy began to try out all the objects and devices that he had marveled at earlier. He was filled with questions, but he knew Elizabeth grew quickly tired of them. He turned the knob connected to the basin in the kitchen. Water flowed out. The water quickly began to steam. He cautiously stuck his index finger under the water and removed it quickly. The water was so hot it burned.

He spent the next hour doing things like this. He pressed buttons and turned knobs until loud beeps shrilly backed him away from whatever machine he was exploring. He had managed to turn on the television, but the sudden loud boom of voices scared him so much, his heart had nearly stopped. Luckily, he was a quick study, and pressed the same button that had allowed the machine to speak, and the noise stopped. He was in equal parts thrilled by all there was to discover, and wary of everything he did not know. Darcy was also exhausted of being frightened. If it wasn't a sudden loud noise, it was a new situation he did not know how to approach. It was the discomforting and constant roar of transportation on the street, and the feeling of being lost that almost overwhelmed him. He couldn't imagine confronting all of this without Elizabeth.

He moved about the room looking at the pictures that covered the walls. Some strange artwork filled with twisted bodies and odd colors. Black and white scenery of a city by an ocean. A series of ethereal paintings of clouds. He didn't know what to make of her collection and what it reflected about her or her family. He came to another wall of portraits near a window. These were also incredible true to life depictions of, he guessed, modern people. Elizabeth was in a few with her arm around a few women, her smile unencumbered and unrestrained. She was the picture of happiness. She looked how his Elizabeth had looked when they were alone and he had managed to be silly. That had only happened a few times, now that he thought about it—when they had both indulged in a little too much wine. No, his Elizabeth, though witty and bright, rarely showed this almost hedonistic smile.

Another portrait was of Elizabeth, a man, a young woman, and an older couple standing in a line in front of a pink castle surrounded by hundreds of people. He guessed this was her family. The brother she mentioned. A sister she did not. He wondered why. Her parents did not resemble the Bennets he knew, though, strangely Elizabeth resembled them.

Darcy went to the bookshelf next to the television, scanning titles. He chose one called _Inherent Vice_ and sat stiffly on the couch, which was happily more comfortable than the settees he was used to. After a few moments, he reasoned he was alone and allowed himself the liberty of stretching out with all intent to read, but quickly fell asleep. When Elizabeth got home, the apartment was dark in the faded light of setting sun. She shut the door and Darcy sat up quickly, disoriented.

"Where am I?" He asked, his voice a few registers lower than normal.

She smiled, "My apartment."

"Elizabeth," he smiled. "How I've missed you."

She laughed, "It's only been a few hours."

He shot up off the sofa and looked around, taking in the apartment. "Oh." He rubbed his face. "Oh."

"Did you just sleep all afternoon?"

"I was inexplicably exhausted."

"Aren't you hungry? I haven't been grocery shopping in weeks. I probably shouldn't admit that. Wanna go out?" She said rummaging through her cabinets and coming up empty. "Listen, I've decided that you can stay for a few more days. I mean, do you want to stay for a few more days- until we can figure out where you belong?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. I would be grateful."

Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself. "Ok. Let's figure this out. We're going to have to get you a couple of things to wear. And then some toiletries, I guess."

"I cannot ask you to…"

"You're not. This is a tax write off anyway, right? We'll just go somewhere cheap. But let's go now. I just feel like being busy."

After prodding Darcy to get his shoes on, Elizabeth opened the front door to leave only to be faced with a blonde, deeply tanned man.

"Jake! Hey." Elizabeth greeted him.

"Hey, Elizabeth. I was just coming to see if you were lonely. Saturday night and everything."

"Oh. Er. I have a friend over. He's visiting from out of town."

"That is one way of explaining it," Darcy said from behind her.

Elizabeth turned to glare at him. They stood in the door for awkward moment, each waiting for the other to say something.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Yeah, yeah. Um. Jake this is Fitzwilliam Darcy. Darcy this is Jake Porter. He lives down the hall."

"So where are you from? England?"

Darcy was about to answer, but Elizabeth broke in, "Yeah. But we went to Penn together."

"Oh. Nice."

"We gotta go."

Jake threw up his hands, "Sure." Elizabeth went to pass him, Darcy still hovering in the threshold, glowering. Jake grabbed her elbow lightly. "I'm glad you're making friends."

Elizabeth brushed him away, but smiled. "I told you, he's an old friend."

"I just thought I knew all your friends. I'm pretty sure I can count all of your friends on one hand and four them work at the hospital."

Elizabeth laughed, "Are you saying I'm a loser?"

Jake stepped forward. "You said it. Not me."

Jake's sudden proximity brought Elizabeth out of the little bubble he had created. Her smiled returned from beaming to polite. She took a step back. "Darcy and I have to go. Have a good night."

Jake shrugged and stepped away from the door. Darcy followed through with the briefest nod he could give to Jake's 'see ya.'

By the time they were out on the street, it was dark. Elizabeth took a deep breath in enjoying the summer night and glad for the neutral city scent the moment instead of the unfortunate but common smell of piss or sewer. She wondered what London smelled like in 1818 and she almost asked Darcy until she reminded herself there was no way he would feasibly know that.

She turned to him to ask him how he felt about being underground, but when she saw his facial expression she stopped. "What's wrong?

"What indication is there that something is wrong?"

"Oh, I don't know. Your stony facial expression kind of gave it away."

"Who was that man?"

"Jake? My neighbor. I told you, remember?"

"He is only your neighbor?"

"Well, we're friends."

"Are you courting?"

"Jeez, Darcy. Pry much?

His face dropped in regret. "Forgive me. I just…when I look at you…" He groaned. "I can confidently affirm that this is the most inarticulate I've ever been. Usually I remain happily silent." Elizabeth smirked, but waited for him to go on. "I was... I am suspicious of his motives, apprehensive of what your own feelings towards him might be, and," his voice dropped and they both stopped on the lonely residential street, "I was anxious that you two might be courting. "

"You were jealous."

"That is the simple way to put it, yes."

"Darcy," she started, "In the interest of honesty, I have to tell you—" She stopped again. "This is hard," she smiled weakly. "Darcy, there's never going to be anything between us. It's just. It would never work. Your situation is too complicated. You need a lot of help. Plus, I work crazy hours. I'm selfish. I'm messy. You definitely don't want to be with someone like me. Trust me. You're staying with me for the next few days, you'll get a glimpse of my horrors."

Darcy smiled weakly, willing his heart to stop pounding. Why did he feel devastated when this was the obvious and rational course of action for Elizabeth?

"Darce. I'm sorry. I really am. It must be really hard—everything that's going on right now. The best I can do is get you some clean clothes and a meal. Maybe even that brandy you were asking for."

He didn't respond and they continued walking.

"He's not my boyfriend or anything. He just some guy I hang out with sometimes We slept together a million years ago and he's always trying to do the Netflix and chill. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I mean, I'm just really busy. It's just like a habit at this point." she said, her face hot.

Darcy was silent, but wore the quizzical brow she was so used to seeing on his face. For a split second, she almost ran her thumb between his eyebrows and down his nose to smooth the furrowed skin. She stopped herself.

He spoke up. "Why would you 'sleep together?'

Elizabeth reddened. "Right. Euphemism. Um, it means like…" She kept thinking sex, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. "It means like intercourse." She cringed. Maybe that was a worse word. "Intimate relations…" she trailed off, unable to look at Darcy. 'Could this be the most embarrassed I have ever felt in my life?' she thought. Wasn't she 28? How was talking about sex this hard all of a sudden? It was like talking to her grandfather about sex. Except she wasn't attracted to her grandfather. Elizabeth physically shook her head to rid herself of both ridiculous thoughts. Especially the one that was more true than ridiculous: how attracted she was to Darcy.

Darcy nodded and kept his eyes trained on the ground. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the jeans Elizabeth had given him that morning, grateful for their presence by their ability to mask his sudden uncertainty about where to put his hands. The fact that Elizabeth had so casually mentioned having _relations_ made him feel not only hurt, but angry. He had no right to be angry. He knew this. There was nothing but friendship between them. And the way she just mentioned it like it bore no consequence or loss of virtue. He could only guess two things: she wasn't ashamed and sexual intercourse wasn't a secret deed done by husband and wife in this time. Darcy berated himself for this last thought, thinking of the scores of affairs and dalliances committed by those in his circle. The only difference he could tell about Elizabeth's attitude towards the act was that she was unburdened by shame as unmarried woman. He still could not help but feel anger when he thought of another man lying with Elizabeth, his Elizabeth. Chiding himself, he let himself acknowledge that she was not his, but it didn't settle his feelings.

"Hey. We're taking the subway the rest of the way. It's down here," Elizabeth said quietly, chastened by Darcy's sudden sullen contemplative demeanor. She was embarrassed she had spoken so openly about her sex life to someone who was basically a stranger, no matter what connection they had. Someone who believed they were from the 1800s, a time when women were probably put in the stocks or something for that sort of thing.

They went down the stairs and waited on the train platform. "So, um, the train is going to come through this tunnel," she pointed down the dark expanse, "and it's going to be loud, just to warn you. It's like a car, just bigger and louder. Let everyone off before you get on or else you're a jerk."

He was starting to feel nervous about what this train was going to be, however it was dulled by the ache he'd felt ever since Elizabeth revealed her history with Jake. He glanced around the platform covered in pictures and some crude ineligible writing.

The train came screeching down the track and though she warned him, Darcy flinched at the high pitch roar and simultaneous squeal along with the blast of hot air on his face. He followed Elizabeth dutifully onto the train, sitting down beside her. It was astonishing how quickly he was becoming accustomed to this kind of travel.

The train started moving. Elizabeth was somberly staring at a poster on the opposite side of the train, which she didn't seem particularly interested in. They rode in silence until Elizabeth turned to him, but kept her eyes on her lap.

"I think we're just getting too comfortable with each other too fast. I shouldn't have thrown around my personal romantic history so casually and you shouldn't have taken it so personally." She took a breath. "Look, you're going to be here for a couple of days. For some reason, we both feel we know each other, even though we really don't at all. That's cool. It happens. But I think it's making things weird. Let's just try to remember that we are more strangers than we are friends."

He frowned. He had done something wrong. Of course he had. Elizabeth was acting more formal with him. He couldn't explain how. There weren't the curtseys and bows and titles that he was starting to long for, but something in her tone and face was creating a kind of invisible wall. He acted accordingly.

Their stop approached and Elizabeth explained how to exit the train. Once off, he followed her up the stairs to the busiest street he had ever experienced in his life. The sidewalks were crammed with people going each way. The traffic was loud and people were shouting seemingly from every direction.

"Here. The store's just over here." She jerked her head in indication for him to follow and started walking away. He had to jog to catch up.

The shop wasn't like any shop Darcy had ever seen. It was large, almost the size of a small museum, and extremely bright. There was a deep boom to the loud music being played somewhere nearby and quite literally thousands of clothing items stacked and hung about. Darcy had had all of clothes made by hand by a man in London for the past 15 years. There were so many people milling about. Some had ink drawings on their skin and hair that was strange colors. Everything about this world was so foreign. He struggled to find something familiar. All he found was Elizabeth. Suddenly, he deeply regretted his stony silence at her confession. She was trying to be a more intimate friend. Divulging things about her past, and her feelings –and he had only thought of how that made him feel. He was prompted out of his pondering by Elizabeth thrusting a stack of clothes in his arms and leading him to a line where he would receive a room where he could privately change his clothes. He forced himself to smile tightly at the servant who led him to a tiny, curtained room instead of glowering at the activities a man of his position had been compelled into in the past two days. He would be for accommodating, he told himself.

Elizabeth had been oddly looking forward to this all day. It had been a rough day at work since Darcy left the hospital and for some reason she thought taking him to H&M and buying him a few things would be fun and relaxing. She had been picturing a sweet shopping montage in her head since she had the idea. That was before Jake showed up. Before Darcy kind of acted like an ass. How did she expect a guy from the early 19th century to act? Or at least one who thought he was from the early 19th century. But, he was a guest in her life for the moment and he could have been more polite. She resolved to not continue acting like he was her long lost friend and instead treat him like who he actually was: a man who was mostly a stranger to her. Hopefully, he would start mirroring this too.

She grabbed a couple of pairs of jeans and tee shirts that looked like his size and explained where to try them on. She was anxious to be done with this experience.

Forty-five minutes they were walking towards dinner, two shopping bags full of essentials.

They stopped for a quick slice of greasy pizza.

They sat in uncomfortable silence waiting for their food. After the silence had grown to a point that even Darcy started to feel odd, he asked her polite questions about her family and their heath. And then he remembered the picture of her with her family. It had to be a safe topic of conversation, he thought.

"I saw the incredibly life-like painting of you and your family today."

"A painting?"

"It was hung on the wall by the windows."

"Oh. That's not a painting. It's a photo. Like this." She pulled out her phone and swiped to the camera. She turned the screen to him. "See how you can see what's in front of you? You just click, well, press, this button, and then you have an image of that forever. See?"

"How—"

"I have no idea," she cut him off. "Ask me how the human heart works. I can explain that. Or how to intubate somebody…but, yeah, I have no idea how the camera works on a phone."

Her phone suddenly began to vibrate. "Hey, it's my mom. Is it ok if I take this?"

He nodded, unsure of what he was giving permission for.

He watched her as she spoke to what he quickly understood to be her mother. Some of the pride he had lost in the cramped and curtained dressing rooms at H&M was regained at the thought of how fast he was learning. Still watching her, he saw her face crumble. She barely spoke, but kept nodding silently. "Okay," she finally croaked at the end and put the phone down. She stared at her lap.

"Elizabeth, what's wrong?" He asked softly.

"Nothing. It's stupid. Are you done eating? Let's go home." She stood up and walked out of restaurant without waiting for him to follow.

"I can tell that you are distressed. You needn't hide it," he said once they were outside the restaurant, walking down the sidewalk.

"My dog died."

Darcy looked perplexed.

She stopped and turned to him. "My family's dog. We've had her since I was 12. She was really old. I mean, I guess I knew…" Tears started to fall down her face." She groaned sharply in frustration. "I just had bad day. This is kind of the icing on the cake." She laughed bitterly. "Actually, you making feel bad for sleeping with a guy forever ago is the icing. My childhood dog dying is the filling. Losing two young patients in one day is the cake." She saw his confused expression. "Ugh, it's a metaphor." She started crying, again. Really crying. Ugly crying. All of a sudden everything was too much. She leaned against a brick wall and covered her face with her hands.

For a moment, he didn't know what to do. He just stood there, openly watching as her shoulders heaved and she let out sobs. He fought the part of him that wanted to turn away and allow her privacy. Some deeper instinct drove him to touch her. Darcy carefully put a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, "Lizzie? Please, please forgive me for how I acted earlier. I shall never think on it without feeling shame. I forgot myself. Or rather I thought only of myself. I behaved poorly."

She didn't answer, just began wiping the tears off her face using her pointer finger.

Darcy tried again, "Let's walk home. I can prepare a cup of tea for you. I think I've figured out the stove today."

She looked up with her wet, bright eyes and blotchy cheeks. "No one's called me Lizzie since sixth grade."

"What do they call you then?"

"Mostly Elizabeth. Occasionally, El, but it's not a nickname. So don't start calling me that."

"I'll stay with Elizabeth then."

She started walking down the nearly deserted street, the glow of street lamps in the dark, humid night comforting her with their familiarity.

After a moment he said, "Tell me about your dog."

And so she did. Which led to stories about sixth grade when they moved from Michigan to Philadelphia and she didn't make a single friend the whole school year and so her parents bought her a dog. Which led to stories about high school. And then college. Some stories were funny, some were a little heartbreaking. To Darcy, it was enthralling to hear of her life and who she was. To see her eyes light up and her hands get animated when she spoke of something she was passionate about. And then they were in front of her building.

She rubbed her face. "Walking always helps me feel clearer." He didn't say it aloud, but that was something he did know. He smiled instead.

She smiled widely back and just like that, the fragile formality they had established a couple hours ago was gone.


	8. Excursion

Chapter 8

That night she slept poorly. She woke up often, her head filled with images and words from her dreams. She dreamt of Darcy and open fields covered in tall grasses. She dreamt of walking aimlessly through woods so thick it almost seemed like night, but she was unafraid. Then she was back in that house—the one that looked like a museum. The one she had dreamt of so many times before, but this time she knew it was house. This time there was no music, no laughter. It was silent.

When she woke, her pulse was elevated. The images and feelings in the dreams had felt so real. She laid in bed for a long time, reviewing the events in her dreams, the feelings of them staying with her as she lay there. Soon, as all dreams do, the feelings and images faded and all she knew was that in her dream Darcy was there and she had been outdoors somewhere beautiful.

She finally got out of bed and dressed. It was her day off. Darcy was awake and eating cereal at her tiny table. He was a fast learner.

His chair scraped against the floor as he stood and cautiously said, "Good morning, Elizabeth." He wasn't sure what her feelings towards him might be after the events of last night.

She smiled and he relaxed a bit. "Good morning, Darcy. I'm glad you found breakfast."

She turned to make her own cereal and started eating it over the sink. After she had finished her first bite, she turned to him. "It's my day off. Want to hang out?"

"Excuse my ignorance, but I don't understand that expression."

"Um, do stuff together. Be together." His heart leapt, but his reason knew what she meant. Of course he wanted to 'hang out,' he thought. He of the four syllable words was growing his vocabulary by the day.

It was settled and they set off to explore the city. Elizabeth had the bright idea to take him up the Empire State Building. She thought he would appreciate the architecture like she did and, most of all, the view. Darcy had other feelings about the view and nearly had a heart attack being that high off the ground. As soon as they reached the top and ventured outside, his knees went wobbly and he had to brace himself against the side of the building, crouching low to the ground.

'Of course he's never been this high off the ground before,' Elizabeth thought as she crouched down beside him and steadied him with her hand on his back. Tourists milled about them and around them, but Darcy just stared at the ground, the blood in his head pounding at his temples. When he was able to get his bearings, he could only look over the side of the building for thirty seconds before he scrambled inside. This was probably the first time in his life he had ever scrambled.

Once in inside, Elizabeth could see the tinge of green in his face and felt a wave of true regret at her thoughtlessness. "Sorry. This wasn't as amazing for you as I thought it would be."

"It was an experience," he said thoughtfully and then smiled wanly.

Elizabeth laughed. "Let's do something more familiar maybe."

"I would be incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be on terra firma."

"Then let's find some terra firma," she said cheekily.

She took him to the Met and avoided anything after the early 1800s. Somehow she knew the impressionists and modernists might not be comfort to Darcy. But in the classical wing Darcy flourished. As he explained all he knew about each piece, Elizabeth saw a side of Darcy she hadn't yet. He was confident to the point of arrogance. He was knowledgeable to the point of haughtiness. He was in his element. But he also managed to smile at her warmly, to laugh at her jokes, and inquire thoughtfully about her opinions. He asked her questions, looking at her intently like he cared about her answers. When he looked at her like that, like she was someone to be admired and respected, her heart bloomed throughout her chest.

After a late lunch at the museum, they walked lazily through Central Park for a long time until the reached 'the castle'; one of Elizabeth's favorite spots. By the time they reached the large stone building, the sun was beginning to set and they sky was a brilliant orange and pink. They climbed the stairs of the building and stood side-by-side, leaning against the edge of half wall, facing a large pond.

There was a light breeze, which kept moving Elizabeth's hair in her face. It wasn't straight like the days before, Darcy observed. Today, it was down around her shoulders, soft and wavy. He felt like a sentimental fool to be thinking about her hair so often, but the way breeze kept pushing it into her face was a constant reminder of his previous fascination with it. He longed to brush it back. This urge was becoming a bit of a nuisance and he had almost walked away until she spoke. "Have you ever been here?"

He shook his head no.

"We came to the city at least once a year when I was a kid. This was my favorite spot. I would just stand at the top of this tower until my parents got annoyed and forced me to move on."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Oh. I don't know. Kid stuff. I just like being able to see so much. I still like it. It's embarrassing, but I still come here a few times a year just to stare out. I love living in the city, but I'm drawn to wild space."

"One is forever craving what one does not possess."

Elizabeth laughed lightly. "We have a saying for that: you always want what you can't have."

"That's a saying? It's not very poetic."

"No. No, it's not, I guess." She laughed. "Sometimes the simplest way to say things is best though."

Darcy lifted his hand and gently pushed the hair in front of her face behind her ear. Elizabeth looked at him, a little startled, but didn't move away.

"Forgive me," he murmured and turned back to gaze at the water, the barest hint of blush running along his cheeks and ears.

"It's ok. It was bugging me anyway." She knew this was probably one of the more lame things she had said, but didn't want him to think he couldn't touch her. She could barely admit it to herself, but these small touches had marked their time together. She found herself briefly grabbing his hand to lead him places or brushing past him too closely. She was drawn to him, inexplicably and without reason. He rarely touched her, but when he did, the feeling was achingly familiar. It felt like sliding the last puzzle piece into place. Satisfying. She wasn't planning to chase that feeling. But she didn't want to stop it either.

When they left the park, they walked a good ten minutes until Darcy suddenly stopped. "My house," he said in a low voice.

"You live here?" She said gazing up at the stone stairs of a large townhouse that practically shouted wealth. There was a large front entry door painted in glossy black and ornate carvings in the stone surrounding the door.

"I did live here. I can't imagine who lives here now." He began climbing the entry stairs to the townhome.

"Uh, Darcy what are you doing?"

He reached the door and it pulled it open. "It's an art school. It says so right here." He gestured to the brass plaque on the side.

"Some art school," Elizabeth murmured and jogged up the stairs to catch up with him.

The front desk was empty, but a computer was on, music playing from its speakers. Elizabeth wanted to wait for permission to tour the place, but Darcy just wandered around the rooms like he owned it. When he began climbing the large, wooden staircase, Elizabeth tried to get him to come down, but he wouldn't listen.

She hurried up the stairs and crashed into the back of him. He turned and looked down at her inquisitively. "I'm afraid we're going to get caught."

"We're not breaking any laws, are we?"

"Well, no. I just don't like to get in trouble."

"That _is_ different," He gave her a half smile, "The Elizabeth I knew was much more adventurous. Don't you want to see where I lived?"

Elizabeth was taken back. She had to acknowledge to herself that she had grown up to be more of rule keeper than a rule breaker. A little sneaking around couldn't hurt. Her decision was confirmed when Darcy grabbed her hand to pull her into a room around the corner from the staircase. "This was my bedchambers," Darcy said. The room large and paneled with glossy wood, but it was void of all furniture. There were only scattered easels with paintings of fruit. On the furthest wall away from the door was the only decoration: a large oil painting of a woman with dark hair riding a horse. "This was the only thing I brought with me from Pemberley, my estate in England. I spent much of time in New York studying it," he said sheepishly. Darcy looked at it for a moment and then turned away.

Elizabeth, however, couldn't help staring at the painting. The woman's eyes were so familiar. She reminded Elizabeth of herself, but softer. She was both intrigued and disturbed by the painting, but unable to explain to herself why. She turned after a moment and the room was empty. Darcy was gone.

While Elizabeth studied the painting, Darcy left in search of the room that had brought him here. The painting of the woman on the horse was Elizabeth. They had been married for six months when Darcy had the painting commissioned. He had his proof right there. If he told the truth, there would be no way Elizabeth could deny what he already knew. But what did he know? That Elizabeth had died and then was born again 200 years later? Without a doubt he knew the woman looking at the painting was looking at a version of herself, but even know this truth, Darcy still couldn't quite comprehend it. He knew that Elizabeth wasn't going to believe him now, not yet, no matter what evidence he could lay at her feet.

Darcy went down a long corridor to the small, plain door that had brought him to this time. He touched the knob. It was cold, and there was nothing to suggest any magic was happening behind its barrier. He yanked it open, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mouth dropped open even though he had been expecting the sight before him. There it was—the blackness. He could feel the energy in the room, almost pulling him in. He put his hand out. The blackness in the room almost seemed to grip it, though his hand was but a few feet away from his eyes, he could not see his hand though it the darkness. He heard Elizabeth approach and quickly slammed the door.

"Whoa. What was in there?"

"That was the door in which I entered this world."

Elizabeth took a step backward. "Wait. What? Really? Did you trying going in? What if you could go home?" She went over and threw the door open and then walked inside.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth!" He rushed over to the door in a panic.

She walked over to the doorway, "Yes, Darcy?"

"I only presumed…"

"That I was sucked through a wormhole and transported through time and space?"

"That you had been lost, yes."

"It's only an art studio."

He gingerly stepped in the room, sliding his foot on the solid hardwood floors.

"Darce, seriously it's ok. You don't have to be afraid." Without thought, she took his hand in hers. "See it's just an art space."

The air smelled of oil paint and there were numerous easels set around the room. Elizabeth watched as his chest rose and fell at a normal rate and his jaw which a few moments ago was clenched tightly began to relax. He decided it was time to go and they rushed down the stairs and slipped past the front desk, now occupied by a woman who could only sit there with her mouth agape was they walked by.

For dinner, they went to her favorite Italian place and ate outside on the sidewalk tables. He made her laugh. After that things began to shift between them. She just forgot to care about the strangeness of their circumstances, her feelings. She talked animatedly about her life while he listened and he, in turn, began to feel more unrestricted. His smiles became wider, his laughs a little louder.

He talked about his family. Mostly he talked about his sister and how much he missed her. He told her about the house his family lived in most of his life and how a place that was one of the dearest things to him became a tomb after he lost his wife. Darcy changed the subject to stories of his time at boarding school and university. He told her all the stories he thought would make her laugh and was rewarded when she did. Her uninhibited laugh was deliciously hedonistic.

They had drank enough wine that Elizabeth began laughing at anything that was slightly humorous. "You're kinda funny," she said and then giggled.

"Er, thank you." Inwardly, he was triumphant.

Her forehead creased in thought. "We better go. When I start giggling I know I had too much wine." She giggled and got up to leave: the bill had been paid twenty minutes ago, much to the annoyance of their waiter.

They walked home, skipping the train. It was unseasonably cool for August in the city. She always took advantage of days like this by walking as much as possible.

"Do you enjoy the city, Elizabeth?"

"Oh, yes. I love living in the city. Do you like anything about being 200 years in the future?" she questioned with a slight teasing tone.

He smiled at her teasing, relishing it for what it was and meant. "I quite enjoy electricity. Obviously, it is a singular convenience to have light when you need it the moment you need it. The cool air that comes through the box in the window-"

"Air conditioning"

"Yes, that is also a fine improvement for the heat of New York. The casualness of manners, I have to admit, is both something I find comfort and discomfort in. I often don't know how to act in many situations. I blame that on the lack of discernible manners. However, it is also particularly freeing in a way."

She nodded, "You know, I can't remember the last time I spent all day with someone. Even my brother will ditch me after awhile when he's in town."

"It has been a pleasant, has it not?"

"It has," she echoed.

When they arrived home it was dark and late, but Elizabeth didn't want the day to end. "Want to watch something?"

He gave her a puzzled look she read easily now. She threw herself on the velvet couch and slouched down into the cushions. "It's…like a play, but small…and recorded. You might have to see that part before you understand it. Come sit." She patted the seat beside her and smiled up at him. He very willingly acquiesced.

Elizabeth scrolled Netflix for something Darcy could comprehend. Historical shows like _Mad Men_ were out. Maybe something about his time period? _Jane Eyre_? _Walking Dead_ would be too gruesome. The office politics of _30 Rock_ and _The Office_ would be over his head. She decided that there was nothing appropriate. "Let's watch a movie. You wanna watch one of my favorites? It's called _Rear Window_ , but it could be a little scary."

"What constitutes it as being frightening? Will you be frightened?"

"Not anymore. I just meant you might. There is some high tension towards the end."

He laughed, "I doubt I shall be scared. I have never been unnerved by any play or story. I like ghost stories."

"You keep telling me you aren't scared of anything."

"I have never made a claim that bold," he said softly and began to intently look at the screen in front of him filled with numerous words and brightly colored pictures.

The parts of the movie Darcy didn't understand, Elizabeth explained patiently. He was a little surprised at the casual relationship of the two main characters, but was also starting to understand the normalcy of such arrangements. Elizabeth was right, he was starting to feel a little anxious about the events of the movie. He let his mind wander to calm his nerves.

Sitting in the dim room watching this tiny play in front of him felt disturbing for reasons other than what was happening on the screen. The casual nature of the activity, of this whole world, was throwing him off. It was almost like there was no propriety and he, a strict observer of societal rules, had nothing to cling to. He had no clue how to navigate any situation. He reminded himself why he was here. If he could hold steadfast to his purpose, that was enough to keep the ground from buckling underneath him. He must have Elizabeth again. He need only to figure out how. If only he could do that, he knew that she would change her mind.

After awhile, Elizabeth's explanations and comments stopped and when he looked over at her, she was asleep. Her head rested on the armrest of the opposite side of the couch. Her legs had stretched so her feet were almost touching his thigh. For a second, he imagined taking them into his lap, but decided against it.

When the movie ended, Elizabeth still had not woken up. He sat there for a good ten minutes waiting for the happy chance she would wake up on her own. After concluding this might not happen in the near future, Darcy tried whispering her name, softly at first until it became a bit of a whisper/yell. Nothing. Tentatively, he reached out and touched her shoulder, meaning to nudge her gently. But his nudge became more of a caress as he couldn't help running his hand from her shoulder and across her upper back. With his hand rubbing her back, he whispered her name once again softly and this time she slowly blinked awake. She smiled sleepily, "Hey you."

He liked that. There was some casualness of speech that was certainly growing on him.

"Hello, madam." He had to work on his.

Suddenly, she sat up. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Not long. I've only tried to wake you quite recently."

She stretched, her shirt riding up to expose a part of her midriff. Darcy averted his eyes, suddenly warmer than before. She noticed and put her arms down quickly. She was trying to dress as modestly as possible for August in New York, but it seems there were things she forgot.

"Well, I'm going to go to bed. Are you still fine on the couch?"

She stood up and he followed suit. She smiled and walked past him to get to her bedroom door, but he stopped her by grabbing her elbow. "Do you need anything?" she asked.

He tried to think of something to say. In truth, he had just wanted to be close to her for one more moment, to just touch her once more. "Er, just I only had the inclination to say thank you. Thank you for escorting me through the city today. It was most diverting."

She smiled, "You're sweet." She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek lightly. "I thought people from the 19th century were supposed to be little?"

"I found most people I met perfectly of average height."

"Makes sense. Good night," she said calmly. Once she got into bed, though, she could not help furiously blushing at the thought that she had just kissed his cheek. She was not a casual cheek kisser.

AN: Thanks for all your reviews. They made my day :) Also thanks so much to beta for catching all the mistakes I can't.

I know how this story ends, I just hope I'm getting there reasonably. Is it too long?


	9. Education

Elizabeth breezed into work the next day, smiling broadly, and listening classic Beastie Boys on her earbuds. She fixed her usual cup of coffee with a general feeling of joy. She felt a tap on her shoulder and yelped.

"Whoa. Didn't mean to scare you."

"Meg," she smiled.

"Long time no see," Meg said.

"I think it's been a day."

"I know, but you usually end up texting me complaining that you are bored."

"I was actually was busy yesterday." Elizabeth couldn't help the giant smile spreading across her face.

"What? Are you dating someone? You are! Since when?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I'm not dating anyone."

"Then you are…sleeping with someone? Semantics."

"No. I'm not doing anything with anyone. I just had a good day yesterday." She sat down to eat the breakfast burrito she had bought on the corner. Meg sat down next to her.

"There's something you're not telling me. Why? Just tell me."

"Ok. I'm going to, but you have to promise two things."

"Yeah, sure."

"I lied to you. Just forgive me and don't get mad about that." She stopped to smile sweetly. "Second, it's weird. I know it. So you don't have to tell me it's weird. Because I've known it from the beginning."

"Oh jeez. It can't be this bad. Just tell me."

"Ok." She stopped and rubbed a spot on the table with her napkin. "Ok. Remember the head injury patient from a few nights ago who thought it was 1818?"

"Yeah. I wonder what happened—" She stopped. Wide-eyed she said, "Elizabeth, you slept with him?"

Elizabeth groaned. "I told you. I didn't sleep with anyone. The guy at the shelter wasn't very nice that night."

Now it was Meg's turn to groan.

Elizabeth continued, "He wasn't very nice and I just got a good feeling about Darcy."

"Darcy?"

"That's his name. That's what I call him."

"He's not a puppy."

"It's his last name. I didn't nickname him or anything. Anyway. We got dinner and he slept on my couch. And the next day his psych consultation didn't go the way I thought it would. Our social work office has been non-existent. And I'm just letting him stay with me for a few days."

"A few days? And then what?"

"I'm going to find a good halfway house or something. Or group for people displaced in time at least," she smirked.

Meg kept her deep frown, "A halfway house? You're in way over your head."

"Meg, I know what it sounds like. Ok. Maybe I am over my head because I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow, but he's really nice."

Meg's jaw dropped. "He's really nice. Are you serious right now? You like him! You like a guy who thinks it's 1850 and is completely homeless. Penniless too, I bet."

"He's actually from 1818."

"Elizabeth, do you believe him?"

"No. Of course not." She stared at the half eaten burrito in front of her. "Sometimes. I don't know. Maybe. Please, don't think I'm crazy."

"Elizabeth, do you hear yourself?"

"Meg, do you? You were the one talking about wormholes with Mark when he came in. You're the one who believes in dreams and fate and all of this hippie stuff. And now when something out of the norm is happening to me…something insane, but maybe I actually believe it, you have to act all logical on me."

Meg was silent for a moment. "There's a difference between believing in signs from the universe and actually having a crush on a person who might have serious mental health issues."

"He doesn't, Meg. I know it's hard to believe, but he doesn't. I just… _know_. I've never been this kind of person. I'm all about the evidence and the diagnosis. I lived for my textbooks. I mean I still have all of them in my living room."

"Yeah, I know. I kept, like, three."

"So you jut have to trust me when I say I know what I'm doing."

Meg turned away and washed her coffee down the sink. After a minute, she turned back. "Ok. But I want to meet him. Again."

"Come over tonight. He's only staying for a couple more days."

"Is 9 too late? I really have to go home and shower."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Sure. Just don't be weird."

"I'm never weird."

"Don't interrogate him."

"Do you not want me to come over?"

"No, it's cool. I just don't want it to be awkward."

"It won't. I still have your dress. I'll come drop it off. Not awkward."

"Ok. Just be chill. He's interesting. He's even funny too. He is just a very sweet guy."

Meg rolled her eyes and murmured, "I can't believe this."

…

Darcy gingerly opened the top of the laptop, his heart pumping quickly. He scoffed at himself for being nervous to use an object, new or not. Before she had left for work, Elizabeth had left him a metro card, forty dollars, and laptop —after a brief explanation how to use Google, by which Darcy had been majorly impressed.

"I can inquire of it anything and it will supply an answer?"

"Basically, yeah."

"Incredible," Darcy marveled.

"Sure. I just thought you could use it to figure some things out. Get any of the burning questions you have solved."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," he said, lightly touching the tips of her fingers.

After she left, he contemplated what to do with his empty hours. For ten minutes he paced. He felt trapped in the small apartment. He needed to court her, but he had very limited means. There was also the matter that he deeply wanted to repay the generosity that she had shown him, but he had no means to do this whatsoever. She often declared she was starving, especially after work. If he could have a meal ready…He just needed to learn how to use the stove, purchase food, and learn how to cook. The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement at the thought. Fortunately, Elizabeth had supplied him with a machine that she claimed could support him in these kinds of endeavors.

Once he opened the laptop, his nerves calmed and he typed with much deliberation and hardly any speed, "How does one cook a meal?" He read a few articles but most were about cooking for one person. How would Elizabeth type it? "How do you cook a meal?" Much better articles came up. Then he typed, "What should I cook?"

It was no wonder Elizabeth did not keep any servants. How easy it was to obtain what you wanted, he marveled. Of course, he then realized, that without servants, he would have to prepare a meal. When the plot first came to him, he was thrilled to attempt to do something on his own and prove his worth. Now that he had the information necessary, he was beginning to feel a stir of annoyance. Cooking was beneath him. Why didn't Elizabeth have servants? In some ways she seemed very poor indeed, but by her own admission she was not. However, her lot in life, the hours she had to labor, the smallness of her living space did speak to the life of a tenant.

This new, modern society was so very different from what he had known. He couldn't help speculate that Elizabeth might consider coming back with him with alacrity. If indeed it were possible. He had seen the force that had carried him to this time, but she had not. Maybe if he opened the door and held her hand…He forced himself to think on matters as they currently stood. It was a big leap from their present relationship to one where Elizabeth agreed to be his wife. He remembered when he proposed to her the first time and how well that went.

The recipe he found on the internet promised to be completed within thirty minutes. It was food he had never eaten before, but it looked appetizing and only had six ingredients. Prepared with the list of ingredients needed for the meal tonight, Darcy ventured outside for the first time. Hands shaking against his will, Darcy walked down to the bodega where Elizabeth had said he could buy food if he got hungry.

Finding the food took some time. He paced the aisles multiple times. His ears went hot when the shopkeeper asked if he needed assistance. Embarrassed, he shook his head no, assuming he was attracting attention. Finally, he stood in line and followed what the others did to pay. In the end, he was not humiliated. He had conquered this challenge.

He walked home with a warm and comfortable feeling of pride that he had been missing these last few days.

That feeling dimmed when he began to cook. It took him one hour to get a pot of boiling water. It took him two bags of pasta because the first was a mushy mass that did not resembles the shapes in the picture on the screen. The mixing part was not hard. He made a sauce without incident and soon he began to enjoy himself. Dipping a finger in the sauce he was delighted to find it tasted good, delicious even.

It was seven in the evening and Elizabeth would be home any minute. His heart began to speed and he scowled at himself for being so juvenile. 'Confidence, man,' he thought. But then he wasn't just nervous. He was exhilarated at the thought of being with her again. He was in love with her. Not just the memory of her or the hope her presence inspired. He loved her for the qualities she possessed when she had been his wife. But for whom she was in this time, also.

Elizabeth burst through the door. "It is hot out there!"

"Yes, I know."

"So you went outside by yourself today. Wow. How did that go?" She threw her bag on the chair and went to wash her hands in the small bathroom.

"I consider the trip a success," he smiled, turning to stir the pot on the stove with a wooden spoon.

She dried her hands on the worn hand towel and looked over his shoulder. "You cooked! You are learning people skills. Is it good?"

"How can you dare to ask me that when I worked so hard with these hands all day?" He raised his hands up with a slight smile on his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your fragile feelings," she smiled, "It looks great. It really does. First cooking attempts aren't always successful."

"Let me put your fears to rest. It is indeed edible."

"Well, I'm starving. Let's eat.

They ate their meal in relative quiet punctuated by Elizabeth's frequent praise for Darcy's food. They spent the rest of the evening in a quiet state, a nervous energy humming in the apartment. Elizabeth was suddenly very nervous for Meg's arrival and Darcy busy contemplating what he should do next in his plan to court her. After a long period of silence, Darcy knew he needed some answers from her.

"Do you think you would always like to work at the hospital?" Darcy asked.

"Yes, probably. Maybe when I have kids I'll join a practice, but I like the thrill of emergency medicine."

"You mean you wish to work once you are married? What about your duties to your home?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "What about the duties to your home? Do you expect men to stay home once they are married?"

"No. Someone must be in charge of the income of the family."

"I don't think there is a reason to have this argument. We will never agree. I know it must be a hard concept to wrap your mind around. But I will assure you that a family can maintain their home while the wife has a career. It's a benefit of modern society. Trust me. My mom worked. Look how great I turned out."

"I just feel a woman is happier running a household and pursuing whatever accomplishments please her than working for twelve hours a day."

Elizabeth looked at him crossly, "You're being pretty presumptuous. I like my job, you know that."

"It's the only life you've ever known. Your mother had to work also. Perhaps, you would like something different."

"Maybe, but I doubt it. It just doesn't appeal to me. Also, my mom didn't just have to work. She had a career. She's a lawyer."

Darcy stared at her intently and leaned towards her, "You cannot always know what you will want."

Elizabeth sat back in her chair, taken back by his sudden intensity. "Sure. But I just don't think you would ask me these questions if I were a man. Why should a man never have to consider things like this?" She was annoyed. She shouldn't be. It wasn't like she was speaking to a man from 2016.

Darcy's face fell. "I've upset you. I just had hoped…" he trailed off, but Elizabeth wasn't anxious to hear about his hope and didn't press his thoughts further. Instead she reached over and fingered an errant curl by his ear. His hair was closely cropped to his head and wavy, but it was getting curlier by the day. "Your hair is getting longer. It grows fast." She dropped her hand and smiled.

For a moment Darcy had stopped breathing as he felt her fingers on his skin. He stared at her, unsure what to do. He knew what he wanted to do. He had been aching for her since he found her and the ache for her only grew as he got to know this modern Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shrugged and was about to say something when the doorbell rang.

She jumped on her feet. "I didn't tell you. My friend Meg from the hospital wanted to stop by and drop off a dress she borrowed." She rolled her eyes, "Ok. She wanted to meet you too."

She crossed the living room and opened the door. "Hey! We just finished eating. Do you want some?"

Meg walked in, blonde curls bouncing around her ears. "No, thanks. I just had a frozen burrito. Wow! Did you cook?" she asked, noticing the food. "I didn't know you cooked."

Darcy stood at the table, having leapt to his feet when Elizabeth stood.

Elizabeth glanced at him while replying to Meg. "I didn't. Darcy did. Darcy, do you remember Meg?"

"Yes. I believe so. How do you do?"

"Quite well, thank you," Meg answered formally. From behind Darcy, Elizabeth glared. Meg mouthed "what?" innocently. Darcy turned to look at Elizabeth, "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said. "Let's just sit."

For awkward minute no one spoke. "So, how was work, Meg?" Elizabeth asked.

Much to everyone's relief, Meg proceeded to tell a story about a patient she met that day with various strange symptoms. Unfortunately, when the story ended the silence set in again.

"So, Darcy, what are your plans?"

"Meg…" Elizabeth started.

"Plans?" Darcy asked.

"For the future? How long are you planning on staying with E, here?" Meg crossed her arms and looked sternly at Darcy, her eyebrows raised.

"My hope is to return home soon," Darcy replied flatly.

"Really? How?" Meg propped her chin on her fist and looked Darcy over skeptically.

"We're going to figure it out," Elizabeth interrupted patiently.

"Both of you?" Meg turned her doubtful gaze onto Elizabeth.

"Yeah soon," Elizabeth said shortly, giving her an exasperated look.

Meg stopped and winced apologetically.

Thirty excruciating minutes later, Meg left. Elizabeth followed her out into the hallway and shut the door. "Hey. You weren't exactly nice."

"Sorry. He's not exactly charming, is he?"

"You probably made him nervous. It's not like you were trying to make him feel comfortable either."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Well, at least he's not smarmy. I mean you can see that he's not trying to charm the pants off of me so he can stay with you."

"Good point. But still. You know. Be careful. Kick him out tomorrow."

"We'll see. Love you."

"Love you too."

When Meg turned the corner, Elizabeth went to get back inside the apartment only find that she was locked out. "Seriously?" she grumbled and knocked.

Darcy opened the door within seconds of her knock.

As soon as she was in the door, she let out a breath. Darcy smirked at her. She smiled back. "You could have tried to be a little more charming."

Darcy shrugged. "I do not easily converse with people I do not know well."

"Well, you didn't help your case with her."

"I don't particularly enjoy performing for strangers."

Elizabeth sighed. "I would argue this point further, but you'll be gone by the weekend and then it won't matter anymore, I guess."

Darcy's heart sunk. She was right that he did not help further his case.

However, Darcy was not gone by the weekend.


	10. Nocturne

A few days later Darcy was still sleeping on her couch. It was a hot and sticky night and they spent it eating take out ramen in front of the air conditioner. She had gotten home at eight that night from work with take out in hand. She took a quick, cold shower and had just started to blow dry her hair when the power went out. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty for her use of extra power that had possibly sucked the system dry.

The lights had flickered and, in the next moment, the room became black.

"Ugh. A brownout," Elizabeth groaned, sliding the flashlight app on her phone. "I can't believe how hot it's been these last few days. Let me see if I have some candles."

Darcy stood by the couch while she felt around the room in search of the few candles she kept in her bedroom, silently cursing that she didn't remember to store emergency candles from the last time she thought of it when the power went out.

She returned with only three scented candles and a half-used packet of matches. She lit the candles on the coffee table and sat back against the couch on the floor. The candles created a small circle of light that illuminated the two of them and not much else.

Darcy stayed perched on the couch. Elizabeth patted the floor next to her.

"You cannot be serious."

"About what?"

"Why should we sit on the floor when there is perfectly good furniture?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "It's more fun. It's like camping. Let's tell ghost stories."

Darcy groaned and slid onto the floor next to Elizabeth, mimicking her by crossing his legs. He had misjudged the distance between them and now was sitting knee to knee with her. She didn't seem to mind, but it was all he could focus on. She began to talk again, telling her childhood ghost story, but all he could do was contemplating moving away from her with her noticing. The other part of him wanted to get even closer without her noticing.

She was asking him a question. "So spooky enough?"

"Very," he lied guiltily. He hadn't heard a thing.

"Do you have one?" She asked, uncrossing her legs and stretching them out. Darcy had gotten used to Elizabeth's choice in nightwear: a small garment called shorts and a tee-shirt, but he had never been this close to her while she was wearing said nightwear. Her legs practically glistened in the candlelight, smooth and long, and with little effort, he was imagining her legs wrapped around him.

"Darcy?" she interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh, yes. A ghost story? I do."

"So tell me," she said, smiling, nudge his ankle with her foot.

"Right. When I was a boy, I was playing in the servant halls below the house. My mother asked me many times not to play down there, but it could get very lonely in that big house for a child. I also had a friend who often coaxed me to do things I shouldn't. While down there, I saw a ghost. I quickly ran away and never ventured down until I was quite a bit older."

Elizabeth looked at him blankly. "That's it? What did it look like? How do you know it was a ghost? Had someone been murdered down there?"

"Murdered? Of course not. Nothing like that ever happened at Pemberley. It looked like a ghost; shadowy, yet pale."

"I feel like that story could have been told better."

"I told it the best I could." He shrugged. "I never boasted to be a master storyteller."

"No, you did not."

They fell silent. Elizabeth drew her knees to her chest, unwittingly exposing more thigh. Dazed, Darcy thought about running his hands up and down those thighs, grasping her ankles, how easy it would to cup, and then graze, and then spread...He shut that train of thought down quickly, ashamed of his naked lust.

"What were you singing?" he asked abruptly.

"What?" She asked, her cheeks flaming, knowing what he was referring to.

"You were singing earlier. While you were bathing." His face to turned hot at the mention of the private activity.

"Yeah, sorry. I thought you couldn't hear me."

"I don't mind. It was pleasant to hear your pretty voice."

Elizabeth let out a bark of a laugh. "Yeah, right."

"You have a sweet voice. What was the song?"

"Uh. Just a song I grew up with. It's old. Like twenty years old."

He gave her slight smile, "Not so old then."

They sat in silence for a moment and then both began to speak at the same time.

"You first," Elizabeth said, sitting back into the couch and trying to relax.

"I wanted to inquire of your day. I hope it went well."

"Uneventful," she smiled. "But next week I have a couple of night shifts where I work all night." She pulled a face. "I loathe the night shift. But it's a perk of being an ER doctor."

"Perk?" he looked confused. "Oh. You are being ironic."

Elizabeth brushed her fingertips along his jaw. "You already have a bit a beard."

Darcy repressed a shudder and the urge to grab her fingertips and kiss them. "I believe this is the first time in my life that I've had one."

"Oh! We can go get a razor. Is it uncomfortable?'

"No, I'm getting quite used to it." He drew his hands down his cheeks.

"Good. I like it."

Darcy gave her half smiling, willing her to touch him again. She kept her hands in her lap.

Elizabeth instead asked, "And you? How was your day? What did you do all day while I was gone?"

"In full disclosure, I mostly have been perusing the internet."

Elizabeth laughed too loudly. "Really? Doing what?" She suddenly wondered if she should be worried.

"Educating myself on what has passed in the last 200 years."

"That's a lot of education."

"It does fill up my days. But, still I find myself getting restless."

Elizabeth's face dropped. "That makes sense." She supposed it was natural for him to feel that way, but she still couldn't help being disappointed that he wasn't enjoying their temporary set up as much as she was. Of course, she had a lot more freedom than him.

"Oh. Hey. I was going to tell you. Meg's birthday party is tomorrow night…"

He looked at her waiting to go on, but she got frustrated by his lack of response.

She sighed, "Well?"

"I'm sorry. I was waiting for the other half of that sentence."

She rolled her eyes. "I have to go. Obviously. Do you want to come?"

"Of course. I would go with you anywhere."

She blushed. "Well, I want you to come. I mean I don't want to abandon you here. But I don't know if this will be your scene. It's rooftop party. Alcohol. Dancing. A bunch a people just standing around and talking over loud music."

He smiled. "Elizabeth, I've been to a great many gatherings that fit that exact description. I am quite sure I will be fine."

"Ok. I'm just nervous. We'll leave if you hate it. I mean I have to stay at least an hour, but then we can go."

He just smiled and shrugged and they both sat back into the foot of the couch, albeit a little closer than before, so when she turned to remark on his new-found ability to sit on the floor and he turned to make eye contact, she was a little startled at the closeness of their faces. She decided moving away would draw too much attention to the fact that they were so close or that she had finally noticed how close they were. It was one of those situations which makes being attracted to someone so unbearable but pleasant at the same time. She finally got her floor comment out and he murmured some reply that she missed because she was concentrating on his hands, which were lightly tapping his knees. She had also become aware of his chest falling and rising at a slightly elevated rhythm.

They made eye contact again and she thought of how much she adored his dark eyes, which were impossibly familiar and new at the same time. If he kissed her now, she would let him. But, she couldn't kiss him. The unknowns were too great. She still had a grip on her reasoning, which was shouting, 'what will happen tomorrow?' After a too long a moment, Darcy looked back down at his lap. Elizabeth sighed in frustration at the inability of either of them to act.

"Do you…" she started. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking. She wanted to know what he was feeling. It almost like she wanted to be coerced into an action, but Darcy was a gentleman. This how gentlemen from the 19th century acted, she assumed. But what she wanted most was for him to tell her he was feeling the way that she was feeling, that when they were together, it felt like they had always been that way. When they met, he had confessed he thought she was his dead wife, but that wasn't a comforting thought. It didn't mean anything because she couldn't believe it. She wanted to know if he felt this incredible pull like two magnets. It was exhausting to keep apart but feel what ever was drawing them closer to each other.

She forced herself to stand up, feeling the loss of the closeness of his body. "I better go to bed. Do you need anything?"

"Thank you, no." Darcy gave her a small smile and then looked away, lost in his own brooding.

…

At 3:30 that night she woke with a start, her face wet with tears. At first she was disoriented, and unsure if she was awake or dreaming. She heard someone enter her room and blearily realized it was Darcy. At once she was pulled out of the haze of dreaming.

"What's happened? Are you hurt?" he asked, keeping his distance in the doorway.

She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just. I dreamt I died. But it was so real. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Was I talking in my sleep?"

His heart began to pound and he crossed the room in two strides, forgetting about the propriety he was trying to keep. He kneeled in front of her. "Tell me about your dream."

She rolled her eyes and patted the space next to her on the bed. He hesitantly perched at the edge of the mattress next to her.

"Are you uncomfortable? Sorry, I'm fine, really. It was just a dream."

"I believe I am the one who barged into your bedroom. Tell me about your dream." He was anxious to hear it. He wasn't one to put stock in dreams, but he couldn't deny that Elizabeth dreaming about death frightened him. Life was incredibly fragile; he had known death most of his adult life. What if he had traveled to a different time, just see Elizabeth die again? He forced himself to see things calmly.

Elizabeth shrugged slightly. "It's getting fuzzy. I just remember a little now. You don't want to hear this. It's morbid."

He waited for her to continue.

"There was just a lot of blood. I was lying down and I couldn't get up and the bed was soaked in blood. I was trying to get up and I couldn't. I was so frightened…and alone. I wanted someone, but they wouldn't come. I was crying in my dream, I must have started crying in my sleep. Strange, huh? It was so lucid."

Darcy squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn't been with Elizabeth when she died; he had been in his study, attending to letters of business. The midwife didn't alert the servants to fetch him until it was too late. By the time he arrived, she had passed. When he had entered the room, the stench of iron was so strong he had to close his eyes to ward off the nausea. As he came closer to the bed he saw her body there, her face lifeless and cold, her blood covering the sheets. The scene had haunted him everyday until the day he had been transported here. Coming here had been his only reprieve. To be with her again, he didn't have to think of her dying and alone.

Her voice broke his thoughts. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear this. It was such weird dream. Creepy, right? I hate dreams like this. It feels like they follow you for days."

Wanting to wrap his arms around her and fold her into his body, he only sighed instead, trying to mask his own pain. He didn't want to frighten her. He needed to comfort her. "It's not pleasant. I wish you didn't have to experience that."

"Well, it was just a dream. I've had some weird ones. One time I dreamt that my sister was trying to kill me."

Darcy twisted his mouth into a small smile. He did have the advantage of knowing how to comfort Elizabeth. She did not like to dwell on what brought her pain.

"It may sound funny, but it was scary!"

"I have had that dream about my own sister as well."

"Maybe it's a common one. In my dream my sister was trying to stab me. It was a gory one as well. Maybe I watched too many horror movies as a teenager."

"I have never watched a horror movie to my knowledge, but in my dream, my sister was trying to trample me with her horse."

"Ah, the old horse murder. Seen it a thousand times."

"Really? Is it common in movies?"

Elizabeth laughed. "No, I was only joking."

"Ah." He let his eyes drift across her room, taking in what he could in the darkness.

"I'm glad you're here, Darcy. Usually when I have a bad dream I just stare at Facebook for an hour."

"What book is that?"

She laughed softly, reaching for her phone one the white bedside table. "Are you sure? You're in that blissful state of ignorance now." She then introduced him in the wonders of her newsfeed. After five minutes of perusing, she said, "It's not that interesting. It's just political posts mixed with pictures of old college friends either going on vacation or getting married."

"You have so much at your fingertips. You take it so lightly as if it were nothing."

"One of the perils of technology. But you're right. It some ways it's such an advantage to have access to so much information, but sometimes, you just don't care if someone has gotten the flu two times this year and counting." She gave him her phone and he mimicked her scrolling, mesmerized by the endless stream of news and photographs. She leaned against the upholstered headboard and closed her eyes and he let himself relax a little, leaning against the headboard as well.

He wanted to stay with her like this all night. When he and Elizabeth were married, an unexpected pleasure of marriage was talking in his bedchambers at night. When they were first married they could stay up all night talking and languidly making love. He had never envisioned marriage being like that. When Elizabeth passed, he ached for those nights with his whole being, mourning the loss of his dear companion and friend. Especially considering the time they lost.

After being married for two years and not conceiving, their relationship became strained. Intimacy became a duty for both of them. They nursed their pride instead of comforting each other, and neither of them wanted to admit their worries for fear the other would be wounded. Sometimes, he would hear Elizabeth cry at night in her room and he would be frozen with a petty pride that she would not confide in him—and fear of saying the wrong thing. He cursed those nights bitterly. When she finally conceived things became light and easy again, but he could never forgive himself for acting the coward when there were difficulties.

He glanced at Elizabeth now, who lay beside him with her eyes still closed. Something in him told him that she would let him stay in her bed tonight. But he also couldn't help but adhere to propriety. They had no understanding. He also couldn't help feeling that it would be taking advantage of her vulnerable feelings. The dream had seemed to disturb her enough, whether she suspected that it was based on truth or not. He wondered how many memories Elizabeth might have experienced in her dreams. What a horrifying memory to carry, he thought. He ached to hold her close to him. Standing up, Darcy resolved to speak with her in morning and declare his feelings and give her everything he had to offer.

When she felt him stand up, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it, glancing up at him with a sleepy smile. She let him go and snuggled down into the down comforter. "Night, Darcy," she murmured.

"Goodnight," he whispered and retreated to his couch alone again.

AN: :) Sorry for the morbid chapter...


	11. Relevery

Darcy's plan to confess his feelings and propose that Elizabeth move two hundred years into the past with him did not take place because he managed to sleep through Elizabeth leaving for the hospital. He woke to a silent apartment, a tight feeling of regret within him. Trying to assuage his disappointment, he resolved to talk to her as soon as she got home. He even tried practicing his speech in front of the bathroom mirror, but could not get through it. It was a foreboding sign, but Darcy took it stride by pacing the length of the apartment for a half an hour. It was such tiny quarters. Darcy felt a bubble of confidence at what he could offer Elizabeth. What woman wouldn't want what he had to give? He thought of that black room in the townhouse. The room could take him home with Elizabeth at his side. He felt excitement and anxiety about the whole ordeal.

The couch sagged as he sat down. He dragged with hands across his face. Now he just needed to face another ten hours alone with no purpose. He couldn't bear the anticipation of tonight. To curb his nerves, he resolved to walk the city.

Twelve hours later, Elizabeth had different plans than him for the night. She rushed into the apartment, shouted something about being late and then proceeded to sequester herself into her bedroom from thirty minutes. When she came out, Darcy jumped to standing from his perch on the couch. She looked different in a way Darcy couldn't explain. Darker somehow. She had on a black dress that left her shoulders and much of her legs bare. Darcy blushed and looked away, afraid his sudden lust was written on his face.

Collecting himself, he took a step towards her and took her hands in his. "You are…" he suddenly stopped.

"What?" She asked self-consciously.

"You are lovely."

She smiled brightly. "Men are lucky. You can just wear jeans and a tee shirt to a party and you're good to go. Maybe it's just you. You always look good."

"Party attire is not what it used to be. My clothes used to be quite complicated."

"I think I can remember. They're still in my clothes hamper." She stepped away from him. "We should go. It's already 10:30. I don't want to be there all night."

Meg's party was being hosted on the roof of another friend's apartment building across town. As much as Elizabeth wanted to stay holed up in her apartment with Darcy, flirting, but never getting anywhere, she felt a sudden surge of excitement to be out with other people, being young. The air was humid and sweet. The thump of a hip-hop song made her giddy to dance and she turned to smile at Darcy. This is just what she wanted to be doing on a Saturday night in August. She began to look for people she knew.

Darcy, however, began to wish desperately for the familiar apartment. He didn't like balls and social gatherings in the first place. Why had he been under the delusion he would enjoy a raucous event with only one person present whom he knew. A person who was obviously already scanning the crowd, looking for a way to get away from him.

Elizabeth turned to him, "I'll get us some drinks. Just stay here." Darcy nodded, lips tightly set as he stood at the outer edge of the party, willing himself not to peer over the half wall of the roof. He watched Elizabeth mill through the crowd expertly until she disappeared. He got a strange sense of déjà vu. He had watched Elizabeth do the same thing many times when he first met her in Hertfordshire and then in London and Pemberley when she was Mrs. Darcy. She was good at parties. Even their first season in town, when she was intimidated by her new social role and making the acquaintance of those who would see her fail, she moved gracefully and knowingly in way the Darcy had never mastered, even with practice and gentle instruction by his wife. He resolved to stand dutifully in place until Elizabeth returned.

He watched people brush pass him and dance pass him, cups of alcohol sloshing onto the pavement. A few men and women tried to stand next to him for a chat, but his silence eventually drew them away. One young lady with pastel hair and a shirt that tied behind her neck stood next to him smoking and complaining. To see a lady smoke was a shock, but the strong, bitter smell it emitted made his stomach turn. She left after noticing his stern look of disapproval. Twenty-five minutes later, he did not feel so dutiful and was quite annoyed with Elizabeth's negligence.

When she finally came back, she was flushed and had two red cups in hand. She handed him one without an explanation for her absence.

"Where were you?" he asked impatiently.

"I was getting drinks. There was a line. I said hi to Meg."

Darcy was silent in response. He glowered into his drink before taking a long sip. He began to cough. "What is this?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Punch? A little stronger than you're used to?"

"A little," he said as he gulped it down.

"Are you nervous?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"You just swilled that very alcoholic drink."

He grimaced but didn't answer. This wasn't how he had envisioned the night going. He stood next to Elizabeth, stone faced, taking in the crowd of people rubbing against each other. It all felt rather garish and odious. He wished he could have easily accessed a second drink.

A man approached Elizabeth. She introduced him as another doctor from the hospital and the Darcy proceeded to block the rest of the conversation out. Elizabeth gave him a quizzical look, to which he only shrugged in response. The man left, but they stood side by side as if in a receiving line.

"You were very rude."

"My mind was elsewhere."

"I could tell." She wanted to press the issue, but she dropped it. She turned to him, "Do you want to meet some people? I can introduce you."

"No."

"Do you want to dance?"

"Ha. No." He flushed at thought of her definition of dancing, having had plenty of time to observe the ritual as he waited for her. The thought of moving with her so intimately in public was almost as abhorrent looking over the edge of the roof.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Ok. So what's wrong?"

"I'm perfectly fine."

"You're basically pouting. You didn't have to come."

"This wasn't what I expected." His pride wouldn't let him admit that he was entirely overwhelmed by the party. This wasn't like any gathering he'd ever experienced. He'd attending loud and crowded gatherings, but not with this crush of bodies, the relentless beat in the music, the earthy and sweet smell of the outdoors melding with the lingering smog of the city. He was uncomfortable to the point of rudeness at balls where he only knew a few acquaintances, but here he couldn't even feign stoicism. He wanted to crawl into a hole, or escape to some large, dark parlor and collect his thoughts like when he was a boy. But they were trapped on top of a building. No calm, empty parlors. Unwittingly, his mind drifted to the ground far below. His heart began to race and his breath came short. This now familiar feeling left him frightened, and yet somewhat annoyed. He was determined to have Elizabeth, this Elizabeth before him, but this was no way to woo her, becoming faint at every new experience.

"Sure. I get that, but I can't just babysit you all night."

He became angry. A comforting feeling, drowning out his anxiety for the moment His voice hardened as he snapped, "Then leave me. I am not a child."

Elizabeth started to reply, her finger pointed at Darcy's chest when Jake walked over. "Elizabeth! How are you?" He embraced her.

"She is well as she was when you saw her last," Darcy managed to respond, with little civility.

Elizabeth glared. Jake laughed, "So you and Elizabeth are still hanging out…"

"He still doesn't have a place to live."

Darcy looked affronted. "I beg your pardon?" he replied.

"Want to dance?" Jake asked her, ignoring Darcy's tone and turning his body to block him out of the conversation.

Elizabeth was happy for the opportunity to leave Darcy and his negativity behind. "Yes," she replied with a smile.

Darcy's mouth dropped open.

She left Darcy with Jake to move into the crowd, closer to the music. She glanced at him behind her shoulder, standing there alone, nursing a drink in a red solo cup, stone faced. She felt bad, but she was buzzed and annoyed and wanted to dance.

Dancing with Jake, she felt freer than she had felt in the last week. Had it only been a week? It felt like a lifetime. Every bit of her being was drawn to Darcy, but she also felt like she was losing herself. She was being consumed by him and his story, his life. She felt she couldn't breathe all of the sudden. She was confused. But being at a party, a little buzzed, dancing with someone she had once enjoyed having sex with was not confusing. This was who she was, right? A doctor with little free time having fun in the tiny moments when it was available. Jake moved a little closer to her and she threw an arm around his neck, laughing.

She felt a rush of freedom until she turned and saw Darcy's face. It was the same stony mask, but she could also see disappointment and sadness in his expression. Her heart dropped.

She left Jake with a brief apology and moved quickly through the crowd to Darcy, scowling at him, but at the same time wanting to take him into her arms. Instead she snapped, "We're leaving." She tugged on his sleeve and silently led him out of the crowd and down into the street.

Elizabeth splurged on an Uber, mentally detracting the money from her grocery fund. They waited silently on the curb, both nursing their anger and annoyance.

Once they were in the car, she turned to him and announced, "We can't do this anymore."

Darcy's heart dropped. He was losing her. His pride vanished in an instant. He turned to her, his face earnest. "I am deeply sorry for the way I acted."

She felt her resolve already begin to melt, but she pressed on. "I'm sorry, too, Darce. But this isn't…normal. I can't…I mean you can't just sleep on my couch indefinitely. I think we're both going crazy. You have to go home. Or somewhere."

He sighed in frustration. But then his face took on a look of defeat. He ran a hand through his hair and allowed himself to slump against the seat. "You are right. Yes." Any hope was gone and his former plans dashed. He had ruined his chance. He had ruined them.

They sat in silence in the back of the darkened car as they drove toward her apartment. The streetlights illuminated her face every few seconds in a way that left him feeling bewitched, but also melancholy. It was as if he was watching something that was already gone. He studied her face out of the corner of his eye, pretending to look out the window. Her expression was soft, her hair loose and around her shoulders. She looked unbearably sad. Maybe it was the effect of the light, but he couldn't bear to lose her. The resolve he had in the morning came back to him in greater force. He needed to let her know, just once, how she made him feel. What she meant to him.

When they got back to the apartment she began to feel strangely nervous as they walked up the flights of stairs. At her door, she fumbled with the keys, feeling Darcy staring at her back. She was beginning hate that stare just as much as she craved it. She wanted him to want her like she wanted him. She wanted him to be out of her life. She wanted him to stay. She wanted her life to be simple and clean, but she was undeniably drawn to the way he complicated her life. The lock finally clicked open and she threw her bag on the chair besides the door and flicked on the floor lamp in the corner. Darcy followed behind her, holding out the keys she had left in the door. She took them, embarrassed, and placed them in the white ceramic dish on the bookshelf. With newfound awkwardness, she sat carefully on the couch, fiddling with the hem of her dress. Darcy shut the door and bolted it like he had been doing it forever. The air felt heady –or maybe it was just the alcohol. He seemed to be moving slowly, sliding gracefully onto the couch next to her, his thigh flush against hers. She wondered how it was that she was now the awkward one, and he seemed full of confidence. She was suddenly aware of her breath, of the movement of her chest moving up and down.

"If you want me to leave tomorrow I will, Elizabeth," he said softly. "I'm sorry for any trouble I have caused you." He looked away for a moment, deliberating his next words. "Perhaps it is for the best."

Her heart dropped. She felt silly in the dim light, sitting there in her little black dress, next to man who wanted to leave her. At her own request just twenty minutes ago, she reminded herself.

"If only we knew how to do that, right?" She laughed bitterly. She studied his face in the darkness, and he was about to confess what he had seen in the art room of his house when spoke again, so softly he almost didn't hear it. "I believe you," she murmured, looking into his eyes.

He looked up, surprised. "What do you believe?"

"About where you are from. I haven't said it out loud to you, but I believe you. I just wanted you to know that."

He shook his head slowly in surprise and gratitude. A moment passed and then he said, "You don't want to commit me to the asylum anymore?" He smiled despite himself.

She smiled back. "Everything in me is telling me that you are telling the truth. I think I've known that from the beginning." Elizabeth leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, burying her face in her hands. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Darcy gingerly took one hand away from her face and held it in his lap softly, over his knee. "Nor do I, Elizabeth."

She let out a breath she had been holding in and she moved her hand over his, running her finger over his knuckles. He glanced at her, surprised at the tenderness, but didn't say anything for fear of stopping whatever was happening.

"I'm not sure if I can ever believe that I was…I was your wife. I mean, that would blow my entire understanding of the world and science out of the water. I feel like I can believe you about where you're from because of who you are, and the fact that I have a basic, rudimentary understanding of the theory of wormholes. I can fit that into what I know about the world. But me? Your wife? That would mean past lives. Reincarnation. Have I lived more that two lives then? Will I live more? I have no paradigm for that. I grew up believing in heaven, and then shifted all of my belief to science. This doesn't fit either of those."

He wasn't sure how to respond. He had been so hopeful when she told him she believed him, but she only believed a portion. But, he knew. He knew with all of his soul that this was her, his Elizabeth. The more time he spent with her only reaffirmed what he knew the night they met.

But what did that matter if she could not believe that part? He missed every part of her, but even if this was her, he would never get the Elizabeth who was his wife back. Whether this Elizabeth was ready to love him, she would never be completely the same. She had had a much different life here. But the things he loved about her, from the qualities that drew him in at Netherfield and Rosings to the deeper parts of her that he had discovered through the intimacy and love in their marriage, those were still with her. That was what mattered. That was what he could not live without. He had to make her love him. Her belief or disbelief in his knowledge wouldn't make her be his wife again. Love was the only thing that could do that and if she was his Elizabeth truly, she would love him.

"Darcy?" she said softly, afraid she hurt his feelings.

"Elizabeth, I understand. Truly. I do. Think no more of it."

"But there's something here that I don't understand. Since we met. I felt. I feel. Well, I'm attracted to you," she blushed, and forced herself to move on, "but it's more than that. Do you feel it too?" She glanced up at his face, her heart racing. She wondered briefly if she was drunker than she had thought. But she didn't feel drunk. She felt suddenly cleared-headed and determined.

"You know I have," he said softly, but intently. A single 'oh' was all the she could manage before his lips were on hers. And then his hands were sliding down her back and into her hair as he pulled her closer, and then they were drifting across her uncovered thighs and then squeezing them tightly with need. Suddenly he pushed away from her, murmuring, "Forgive me, forgive me."

"What? What's wrong?" she asked in a daze.

"I wanted to ask your permission. I did not mean to paw at you like an animal."

She smiled. "You have my permission to paw me." He gave a brief, quiet groan, and then his lips were on hers again. It was hard to think besides lips, hands, tongue, teeth.

"This feels—" she started, but he cut her off with his mouth, running his hand down her back, pulling her towards him. She pulled away from the kiss. "This feels so natural," she sighed. He bent his head to kiss her neck, running his tongue lightly behind her ear. "I can't explain it."

"Yes. I know," He murmured against her skin and then he was kissing the hollow her collarbone nipping at the skin with his teeth then soothing the skin with his tongue. She softly moaned. It was as if they had been doing this forever, as if he knew her body better than she did. She pulled his mouth back to hers. His hand drifted underneath her dress. She leaned into his touch, craving more. The gentleman in him was urging him to remember propriety, but the need in him was aching, demanding to be met. He needed her. He needed her to need him.

She found herself on the couch with Darcy raised up above her. She pulled his body towards hers arching her back so their hips met, wanting him fiercely.

He pushed himself up on his hands, straightening his elbows. His voice was low and rough when he spoke, "Elizabeth. I need you."

She took his face into her hands and rubbed her fingers along his jaw. Kissing him lightly, she moved off the couch and took his hand in hers. But she was suddenly shy standing above him. She wondered if they were moving too fast when perhaps they shouldn't have moved at all. Thoughts of tomorrow crept in and she started smoothing her hair and pulling down her dress.

Glad for the opportunity not to be obtuse, Darcy saw the hesitation in her face. He stood up and bent over her kissing her thoroughly, desperately, until all shyness and logic was gone and she led him to her bed.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Keep reviewing if you'd like! I got a review about Darcy being creepy a few chapters back and I always think about as I write this, trying to avoid that as much as possible. Haha


	12. Complications

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. Sorry it took so long to get this up. Traveling, work, family, blah, blah. T

Elizabeth was sitting upright with a heavy necklace around her neck. She was bored, but she didn't know why. Her dress was too tight in the ribs, and the necklace was pinching her neck. She wished she were wearing her scrubs. And suddenly she hadn't any idea what scrubs were; the thought confused her and she felt a bit lightheaded. She blamed it on the dress. She forced herself to focus on the conversation at hand. It was such a shame that none of the interesting Darcys had come for the holiday. It was Lady Catherine and a smattering of cousins from that side of the family. Not really Darcys, then, but Fitzwilliams. At least the Colonel and his wife were due tomorrow. They both provided great fun that the cousins sitting on the opposite end of the room from her seemed to have little understanding of. Perhaps, with the Colonel and his wife's arrival, she might be able to convince them to indulge her in another activity besides whist and idle gossip. Lady Catherine was droning on and on and she must pay attention before she was called out. Ah, here it was. Lady Catherine turned to her.

"Mrs. Darcy, you have the most peculiar look on your face. Are you well?"

"Yes, Lady Catherine. My mind only wandered for a moment. Lady of the house duties." She smiled in what she hoped didn't resemble a grimace.

"Yes, well, it can be a burden, but one should never allow one's guests to feel neglected. At Rosings, I am told, that I am a gracious hostess. I always strive for perfection in that area. You must be an example to Georgiana." Lady Catherine finished and then turned to whisper something to her companion, an early-widowed gentlewoman with a fixed scowl and eyes that drifted after you like an oil portrait in a dark hall.

She finally turned her attention away from Elizabeth and towards the young, elegant girl at the pianoforte. "Georgiana! Does Mrs. Darcy manage to be an example to you? Are you learning all that you ought? You are quite close to marriageable age yourself and we are all counting on you to make a successful match for the family," she finished, turning a sly eye on Elizabeth. Elizabeth nodded daintily in agreement, allowing herself to roll her eyes in her mind's eye only. She stood to sit by Georgiana to help turn the pages of music and provide the young girl with some comfort. After a year of visits with Lady Catherine, she had found it easier to agree instead of rebuke her. She wondered if she was losing herself in the name of peace.

She checked the door for the tenth time in ten minutes. Where was Fitzwilliam? How was he avoiding this? He never had to endure his family the way she did, or her family for that matter. If he didn't enter these doors in the next five minutes, she was going to have to do something drastic, like start playing whist with the cousins.

A footman entered the room requesting her presence in the study. Strange, she thought, but she was relieved for the excuse to step away. She could hear Catherine start to complain that the situation was "most unusual" as she left. Her heart sped up as she left the parlor and followed the man through the dim, wide hallway.

The footman opened the door and she entered the room, hearing it close behind her. The room was lit by a single candle, and her husband had situated himself by it in a chair, reading. "Darcy?" she questioned.

"Darcy?" He repeated, confused, but smiling.

"Fitzwilliam." She smiled and shrugged. Slip of the tongue.

He stood and crossed the room, moving closely and scooting her towards the wall, his hands on her waist.

She was confused at his unusual behavior until he leaned in and nipped her lips. His breath had the sharp, sweet smell of brandy. "You are inebriated," she said crossly, starting to pull away.

He let her go and stepped slightly away from her. "I resent the accusation. I am only slightly bosky," he said. But then he pulled her close again, smiling a wide, silly grin she had hardly witnessed even being married a year now. He bent to kiss her neck. "I only had a few glasses of brandy. In addition to a few glasses of wine at dinner. It wasn't intentional I assure you." He laughed softly and a grazed his fingertips below the neckline of her dress.

"Fitzwilliam," she said sternly. "What will your family think? How should I explain us both being gone?"

"You understand how I feel about deceit. You shall simply explain that I could not stop pondering how well your legs feel around me." He pulled her off her feet and balanced her against the wall, her legs now tightly around him.

She indulged him and herself in a few kisses. She would never tell her husband this, but she did enjoy when he had slightly too much to drink and lost a bit of his cool reserve. But she had but one glass of wine and the thought of Lady Catherine waiting in the parlor would not leave her. Gently pushing away, she wiggled down and out of his embrace.

He groaned and a pushed a hand over his face. "Damn these late hours my family keeps." He took her arm, "Shall we go entertain, Mrs. Darcy?"

"Perhaps not so well as we have, as we wouldn't want to encourage any of our guests to keep later hours than necessary." She took his arm and they exited the study making their way down the cold, marble halls of Pemberley.

"No, you are right. Let us go be bores."

"Something you have had plenty of practice accomplishing."

He stopped and turned to her. "Elizabeth, you slay me," he said dryly and then pulled her towards him for a deep kiss.

Breathless, she pulled away. "Really, Fitzwilliam, we must-"

But he cut her off to kiss her again, and she responded in kind, until her lips felt bruised and she felt slightly bosky herself. When he pulled away, she remembered herself again, gingerly touching her lips. "Oh, now how am I going to go in there with my face all red and having been gone for an inordinate amount of time?"

He looked at her seriously, considering, but there was a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. "Retire for the night. I will make your excuses and then after some time, I will make mine."

"Your aunt-"

"My aunt is visitor of Pemberley. She must respect that."

"I'm considering now if I should indulge you in this or if it will make your temperament unreasonably prideful."

"How so?"

"You are still so used to getting your own way and this will only further this kind of behavior," she teased, a slight smile on her lips.

He grabbed her wrists gently and kissed the inside of them. "Is this not your own way too?" he said softly.

She smiled down at his bowed head and placed both hands in his hair, gently guiding him up. "You are correct. Then it must not be so very bad because my desires are always so pure of heart."

He placed a brief but searing kiss on her mouth. "Be in my bed when I retire."

"I shall try." She smirked, but they both knew where she would be.

She woke with a start, the room already bright with sunlight.

"Are you all right?" Darcy was upright, his head leaning against the headboard, a book in his lap. His hair was mussed and his smile was warm and she wanted him all over again. Instead she smiled and sat up herself. "Darcy."

"Elizabeth."

She smiled. "I'm all right. I just had the strangest dream."

"That seems to happen a lot." He pulled her hand into his lap to stroke her fingers softly.

"I had a dream about you."

"Not getting enough of me awake, are you?"

"Har har. As if I have control over my dreams. No. I dreamt about you and we were at Pemberley." She moved closer so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

His heart sped up. "Pemberley?"

"Yes, our- your house, right?"

"Have I ever told you my estate was called Pemberley?"

"I'm sure you did. How else would I know that?"

"I don't believe I did."

She pulled a look of incredulity. "In my dream we had some family over, but you had abandoned me and were drinking. Saying this out loud, the dream sounds pretty mundane. I guess it's not that strange."

Darcy ran a hand through his hair, thinking about what she was saying. He grabbed her hand suddenly. "You really dreamt about that night?" He was suddenly overcome. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth," he whispered as he kissed her forehead and cheeks. He cupped a hand on her cheek, his fingers in her hair.

She was startled by his urgency. "What is it?"

"Elizabeth, those events occurred the Christmas after we married. Do you truly remember?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "It was just a dream, Darcy."

He sighed, frustrated. "You are being stubborn."

"Me?"

"Tell me, do you truly believe it was only a dream?"

"I don't want to talk about it any longer." She pulled her knees up and looked away from him.

"Why?"

"I already told you last night," she said, exasperated.

He relented, but remained silent. He cursed himself for raising his hopes after a silly incident such as a dream. Why was he so attached to Elizabeth transforming completely into his Elizabeth? But he decided not to pursue the answer. This must all work. She must go to Pemberley with him and be his wife, and any pain that once was would be overtaken by joy. It was the way it must go. If only she would trust him.

Both were silent and separate for a few moments. But Darcy, having learned a few hard lessons in his lifetime about pride, apologized and pulled her close, and she relented quickly and relaxed into his embrace. On her part, there was the niggling feeling in the light of day that whatever they started last night had no chance to develop into anything substantial, but still he felt good and smelled good, and the feeling of ease and rightness that being with him illogically left her with was more overwhelming than any niggling at that moment.

"Are you harboring any regrets?" he said softly.

"About what?"

He paused. "What occurred last night?"

"Oh. No. Not at the moment. The way I'm feeling— is unexpected. My feelings are deeper than they have any right to be." Now she was nervous. She took his hand and kissed the inside of it. "Are you?"

"Never."

"Well. Great." She paused and said carefully, "It wasn't how I expected it to go."

"What was not to your expectations?"

She reddened. "Just, you know, last night…you and me. In a good way."

He slid down beside her, pulling her close under the covers. "Pray, what did you expect?"

"I don't know. You are from the 1800s. So, you know…"

"No, enlighten me," he smiled, enjoying her embarrassment.

"Ugh. Whatever. I had fun last night. You were more open than I thought you might be. The end."

"I would also like to address that you had expectations in the first place. One could presume you had meditated on these kinds of events happening between us before last night, then?"

"Seriously? Yeah, one could presume that. Like you didn't?"

He ran a hand down the length of her back and over the tops of her thighs. "Yes. I did. I have no wish to deny it."

She blushed and he kissed her slowly, pulling her hands above her head. She was very glad to have today off.

They lounged in bed together for a while, a little sore and tired, but completely at peace for the moment. If Elizabeth smoked, now would be the time to have a cigarette.

"Did you smoke? You know, before?"

"No. I had a cigar once or twice during school, but my father discouraged habits he deemed wasteful and vulgar."

"And you always listened to your father?"

"Yes, I was a dutiful son."

They were silent until Darcy asked, "And what of your relationship with your parents?"

"I've been dutiful off and on since high school," she smiled. "I was rebellious as a high schooler could be while getting straight As," she pulled a face, "and playing field hockey. I've never smoked…cigarettes. But my parents hate if I ever mention doing anything slightly reckless in high school and college, even now as a semi-respectable adult. Now, my mom wants me to live closer. That's her new thing, but I won't consider it. So I guess not so dutiful."

He considered her words and then asked, "How do you play field hockey?"

She smiled. "Oh, you just run around with a stick trying to get a ball into the net."

"Intriguing."

"It's fun. I'm pretty sure most sports can be boiled down to basically moving a ball somewhere. Did you play sports?"

"Cricket was the only one with a ball."

"Ah, yes, cricket."

"You don't know what cricket is."

"I've heard of it. I'm a little worldly. There are paddles and a ball and teams, yes?"

"I believe they are called bats."

"They look like paddles though."

He suddenly brightened with a new thought. "Billiards. Billiards is a sport with balls that I play."

"Billiards isn't a sport. It's a game."

Darcy shrugged. "Never mind then."

She put her legs across his and he took her hands in his and they laid like that silently for a few minutes, peaceful.

Elizabeth eventually broke the silence with her curiosity. "Tell me about your wife."

He smiled and then thought for a moment. "She taught me how to laugh freely. For so long I had been mired in responsibility and propriety, I hadn't properly laughed for years before we were engaged. I lost my mother at a young age and my father soon after I reached a legal age. I became the guardian of my sister along with my cousin. I inherited my father's holdings much younger than I expected. It made me more reserved and serious than I had been in my youth. Being with her made me feel as if I could breathe slightly freer again. She challenged me constantly. That did not always bode well for our marital felicity, but I say that without casting the blame on her. My weakness, I discovered, can be pride. I needed to be challenged. I became a better person under her tutelage."

"And what did you teach her?"

"Patience, I would presume. She didn't like me when we first met or when I first proposed for that matter," he said with a soft laugh. "She was rather stuck to her opinions when she formed them. That was at first. She softened over the years. We both did, as people tend to do."

"I think it can go both ways. You can relax more or you can get more severe."

"That's true. I fancy to think I have relaxed."

"You've relaxed even over this week. Well, except for last night. That wasn't your night," she said thinking of the party, but then she blushed when she thought of everything after.

"I've only had a week to adjust. That party was—"

She cut him off. "Let's not talk about it. I know it was difficult for you. Let's only talk of the things we've done that make us feel happy. Everything else doesn't matter now." She leaned in kissed his rough cheek and then stayed to nuzzle his neck. He wrapped his arms around her.

"We really need to figure some things out today," she mumbled. "We can't just stay in bed all day and then have me go on to the night shift next week—" She stopped and smiled. "I mean we could I guess. You could just be like, the houseboy. But it's totally voluntarily. I don't condone or participate in any form of slavery as matter of principle," she said with slight laugh, but suddenly became serious with a thought. "And you?"

"No. I don't support slavery"

"Ok. That's good to know. No sugar plantations then?"

"No. I pay all my employees. They're all in England."

"Ok. Ok. But I was joking about you being my houseboy. It kind of loses it humor thinking you lived during a time when people did that." He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, uncomfortable with the subject. "We need to figure out something. I mean, what are you going to do for a living? Are you just going to stay with me until you get job and save up for a security deposit? That might not be great for a healthy relationship."

"Elizabeth, I…I have something to confess. I have kept something from you that's been weighing on me, but I wasn't prepared to divulge…" he trailed off. "The townhouse we visited. The room that transported me here. When I visited the room I felt the same strange force that carried me here. The room was shrouded in nothing but darkness. When you opened the door, however—"

"It was just a regular classroom."

"For you. When I opened it, there was a different consequence."

She was silent for a long beat, then she pulled away from him and looked him in the eye.

"So you could have gone back that day."

"I couldn't leave you yet."

She gave a short, humorless laugh. "You lied to me." She jumped out of bed and went into the kitchen area.

He followed her immediately. "I—"

She turned on her heel, interrupted him as she grew more incensed. "I think I even got a lecture once on the abhorrence of lying a week ago." She turned back around and started filling the kettle with water.

"Yes, well, I stand by that, but in this case—"

"You found it okay to lie to me. Until you got me to sleep with you of course." She slammed the kettle down, switching on the burner.

"No. No. I would never do you the dishonor. How can you presume such a thing of me?" He turned away from her, deeply offended by her accusations of such licentiousness.

"Darcy, look at the evidence I have in front of me." Unwillingly, tears slipped down her cheeks and she gave a little groan of frustration.

He turned back to her and quickly embraced her tightly. "I should not have lied to you."

She considered this for a moment, then sighed. "No you shouldn't have, but I understand why you did. I'm sorry for freaking out. I don't know. I'm waiting for this all to implode."

"It's not," he said and she let out a small laugh of derision.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked.

"We're back to that again." Lying in bed with her last night, Darcy had known exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to propose and tell her that transportation to his time was still possible. He wanted to take her with him the next day and sail back to England with a new American Mrs. Darcy (whom his whole family would resent, he couldn't help but think) and live in peace at Pemberley until they died of old age. But what was once a clear path was now thorny. He needed to prove himself to her. He reminded himself that she had only know him a week. Her opinion of him was decidedly better than the first time he knew her, but she still had little proof of his character. Perhaps, a physical token. He thought of the wedding ring he gave Elizabeth, locked in the drawer of his desk, in the study of his New York home, and made a decision.

"I need to retrieve something and then I will return."

Elizabeth laughed. "Wait. What?"

"I'm going to go back alone, but I will be back," he said resolutely.

The kettle all of the sudden started to scream loudly and she jumped. "You're leaving me?" Elizabeth forced herself think rationally. Of course he had to leave. She moved the kettle from the burner with shaking hands.

"I intend to return."

"And then what?"

"And then we can find a solution. Elizabeth, do you love me?"

She hesitated, deeply surprised by the question. Then the doorbell rang.


	13. Joy

A/N: Sorry it's been ages! My free time has been nil and pregnancy has not helped my energy to complete everything. Hopefully this isn't too rough with mistakes. I think there should be 3 more chapters, so that's good! I will try to update more regularly and finish soon!

Chapter 13

Standing there with such an earnest look on his face, she had to look away. The doorbell rang and she sighed and combed her hair back with her fingers.

"I better get that." She shrugged, albeit grateful for the disruption.

He wanted to stop her, but had nothing else to say. He leaned against the countertop as she walked toward the door, trying not to brood, one of his unfavorable qualities. One that Elizabeth often took to chiding him about after the effects of it had begun to wear on her.

Elizabeth opened the door and a very tan woman with glossy blonde hair strode into the apartment, black sunglasses perched on her head.

"Sophie," Elizabeth exclaimed. "I didn't know you were in town."

"Probably because you never call me," she replied, dumping her black Celine on the chair nearest the door.

"You never call me," Elizabeth retorted indignantly.

"What's your point?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "So then, are you staying here while you're in town?" She glanced at Darcy nervously.

Sophie flipped her hair over her shoulder and brushed off nonexistent dust from her silk dress the color of a ripe tomato. "No. And sleep on your couch?" She laughed lightly. "No. I have a suite at the Soho House."

"Nice. Who paid for that?"

Sophie let her jaw drop delicately, "Seriously, Liz, I just got here."

"Don't call me that," Elizabeth snapped.

Darcy listened the exchange uncomfortably waiting for Elizabeth's introduction. He wasn't sure if this new woman was ignorant of his presence or ignoring it, but he found himself standing completely still against the tiny kitchen counter waiting, realizing the indignity of doing so with each passing sentence. He finally allowed himself a small cough.

Both women turned to look at him.

"Sorry, Darce," Elizabeth muttered.

"Elizabeth! I had no idea you had someone here," Sophie exclaimed and smiled at Darcy.

"Really? You didn't notice him lurking in my 400 square foot apartment?"

"Come on, Elizabeth. Be nice now. I won't call you Liz. Who's your friend?"

"Sophie, this is Fitzwilliam Darcy. You can call him Darcy. I do." She wondered briefly if he minded that. "Darcy, this is my sister, Sophie. She lives in LA. Like California. It's on the other side of the country."

"Elizabeth. I'm sure he knows where LA is."

Elizabeth felt her face flush. "Right."

Darcy walked forward and took Sophie's hand as if to shake it, but more just gave it a light squeeze. It looked awkward, but Sophie seemed charmed. "Nice to know you," Darcy said with a warm smile. Elizabeth had to smile, charmed herself. She wanted to question him where this new confidence and social skills came from.

"So where did you guys meet? Are you serious? Dating? One night stand?"

"Seriously, Soph?"

"What?" She asked, feigning innocence.

"We're together. It's new. Stop embarrassing me like some kind of sadist."

"That's extreme. I'm just curious." She sat on the couch, smoothing her skirt and crossing her legs. "And where did you meet?"

"I met him at the hospital. Cafeteria"

Sophie wrinkled her nose. "That's weird."

"He was just there for some tests. It wasn't weird."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a teacher at the university," he said, without hesitation.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise. He gave her a small smile.

"A hard profession to pay the bills."

"I manage fine," Darcy replied smoothly.

But Elizabeth snapped, "What the hell, Sophie?"  
"I'm just curious."

"You're being rude. Ruder than usual."

Sophie stood. "Ok. I'm sorry. It's been a rough week. Do you have any wine?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Just gin and tonic."

"Fine. I'll have a glass." Sophie frowned.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and turned to Darcy, "You want one too?"

"Yes, thank you." She smiled sweetly at him and Darcy ached to be alone with her again.

Instead, he was left alone with the sister and trying his best not to be awkward, but the period difference, his own inclinations, and Sophie's first impression was proving that to be difficult. He wanted to show Elizabeth that he could do this.

"What is your profession in…did you say L.A.?" Darcy asked, hoping his expression looked interested.

"Yeah. I'm in producing right now."

He looked her blankly.

"You know, like films?"

"Ah, like _Rear Window_."

"Sure. Are the kind of person that only watches Turner Classic Movies?" Sophie asked, smiling.

"I'm not sure I know what that is."

"Oh, so you're the kind of person who doesn't own a tv." She laughed as if she had told a joke.

Darcy smiled in good humor, though not understanding the humor. "You could surmise that. However, it is not from an aversion. I haven't had the chance."

"To buy a tv?"

"To view many tv and movies. Elizabeth has been educating me."

"With what? Reruns of House Hunters?" Sophie laughed again.

"You know it too?" Darcy asked, a little excited to understand a reference to modern society.

"Yeah. I know it. So are you an Amish escapee? No, that's not it. You're British, right?"

"English. Yes, that's correct."

"Were your parents hippies?"

"I'm not sure what you are suggesting—" Darcy started as Elizabeth walked in, glasses in hand.

She rolled her eyes at Sophie. "Are you seriously interrogating him? He just didn't watch TV growing up. He hasn't really been into, but, you know me, couch potato. I've been trying to convert him."

Sophie drank her drink quickly and stood up in a brisk, sudden motion. "Let's go out. I'm starving."

"We kinda had plans." Elizabeth frowned.

"Oh come on. I have reservations at Employees Only. You'd never go otherwise."

"Is there room for Darcy?"

"Yes. It's for four. I was supposed to be coming here with someone. You know, I'm really annoyed that you haven't asked me why my week was rough." Sophie said waiting to be asked for tale of woe.

"Let me guess: you broke up with the guy you're seeing." Elizabeth stated frankly.

"Yes. And you don't have to be an asshole about it. Just because you don't date doesn't mean you have to lose any empathy."

"I date," Elizabeth said defensively.

"Who?"

Elizabeth made a face at Darcy.

"Ok. This is the first guy in awhile," Sophie conceded.

"That you know about."

"This is the first guy in awhile," Sophie repeated.

"Yes," Darcy interrupted, "Some have many suitors, some may only have one. To each his own. Shall we dress for dinner?" He smiled at Sophie.

Elizabeth was amazed at his sudden social finesse once again. She flattered herself it was because of her.

After a cab ride with more bickering between the sisters, they arrived at a restaurant that was dark and loud which made Elizabeth anxious for Darcy's sake, but he seemed to be taking it in stride.

With a purpose, he could handle these uncomfortable situations. His purpose now was to show Elizabeth that could do these things for her. That she could trust him. Rely on him. Make a life changing decision with him. He smiled. He asked questions with interest. He willed his heart to slow down when it sped up with something akin to fear and nerves when they entered the dark, loud restaurant with music playing that left vibrations in his chest.

After more small talk from Darcy and bickering between the two sisters, they were seated with drinks. Elizabeth visibly relaxed after the second drink.

"I'm glad to see Elizabeth with someone." Sophie commented, taking a sip of wine. "It's been ages."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but Darcy smiled and inquired into her own romantic life, despite the overwhelming feeling that he didn't really care. Sophie explained how she had just been dumped by an actor just a few days ago (to which Darcy could only inwardly sputter the thought she thought his made-up profession was lowly.)

They made it through dinner, Darcy charming Sophie and diffusing tensions and Elizabeth being charmed all the more by Darcy. Elizabeth, not ready to go back to her tiny apartment, had the idea to swim and Sophie graciously agreed to allow them to swim in the pool of her hotel while she went for drinks with a friend who lived in New York.

After purchasing the cheapest swimsuits Elizabeth could find and then begging Darcy to wear it in public, Darcy found himself in the warm chlorinated water of the pool, strangely nervous. Though he only wanted to be with Elizabeth, he longed for the sturdy confidence he had at home.

"Have you been swimming before?" Elizabeth asked.

"A few times. When I was younger, of course. But just in a little river that ran though the property. I have never been with a woman before."

Elizabeth laughed. "Are you nervous?"

"No."

"I feel like I should explain my sister. She's nuts. But I love her. Obviously we have a weird relationship. She's loyal to a fault to me, to our family though. Anyway, sorry for the awkward day."

"I was happy to meet your sister."

"No you weren't. Don't lie."

"I said I was happy to meet her; that wasn't a lie."

She smiled. "I love her, what can I say? I've loved stranger people." She looked around the empty pool deck. "I can't believe there isn't anyone else up here. You're lucky, you know." She said, thinking about his embarrassment over wearing the swimming trunks in public.

He took a moment to decide his next words, "I feel lucky," he said softly. Elizabeth smiled and kissed him quickly on the mouth and then swam away towards the deep end of the pool. When she reached the edge of it she clung on and turned to Darcy, still standing shoulder deep in the middle of the pool. "It's not that much deeper over here. It never is in hotels." She was beginning to wonder if he knew how to swim when he decided to take a few long laps over to her.

"This water is…strong," he commented, wrinkling his nose slightly.

"It's chlorine. A chemical they put in the water. I love the smell of a good chlorinated pool," she laughed. She sobered at the thought of tomorrow. "Are you still going to go back?"

His brow furrowed and she took on hand off the edge to smooth softly with her thumb. The action made him look at her with expression she couldn't read, but then he was tugging her hand. "Come. Let's go to the middle where we can stand."

She pushed off and met him a few into the middle of the pool. When they were there, he stood close enough the water drip from his skin onto hers. It made her shiver.

"I've got to return," he said firmly, "But know that I will be back. It will only be a few days."

His words made her bristle. "I know. It's not like I can't live without you. I just have a bad feeling about it, I guess."

He shrugged. "It will be fine."

The words didn't soother her. "Um, ok. Whatever you say," she said petulantly and then splashed him a little out of annoyance. She expected him to be annoyed but instead he smiled cheekily and splashed her in the face.

"Hey! Don't splash me in the face. What is this? Sixth grade?" She splashed him back.

"I wouldn't know. I've never been to a sixth grade." He splashed her back, though this time trying to avoid her face.

After a series of splashes that were leaving her hair damp, she drew the line. "Surrender. I surrender." She smiled and kissed him quickly, but he put his arms around her and held her close. The look he gave was full of such unabashed longing, she looked away, but tilted her head towards him gently and kissed her, his hand gently falling and then staying on her neck. For a second she thought of her pulse there and what it must feel like to him: a fast and hard thrumming, but then she let herself get lost in the kiss and his body against hers in the water.

When he pulled away, they looked at each other in the eyes for a moment and there could be no doubt of his feelings. She didn't need him articulate or demonstrate. She just knew. She smiled and touched his lips briefly with the pads of her fingertips.

"I love you. I do. Is that crazy? It is. I've only known you for a couple of weeks."

His smile was broad and beaming. If he didn't have such a noble mien, she would have said goofy.

They were interrupted by a group of people open the door. Darcy sprang away from Elizabeth as if they were committing an indiscretion. She rolled her eyes in response and took his hand. "Come on. Let's go home."

The ride home was quiet between and Elizabeth reflected on her feelings. She felt closer to Darcy than ever. Elizabeth loved her sister, she really did, but she also could not stand her sister. Darcy had acted as if he had known that. He didn't try to be an alliance with her against her sister, which even Meg did and she hated. He didn't try brush her sister off with coldness even though she deserved it. Darcy was genteel. That was the best word to describe it. The walk home from her subway stop was silent, but comfortable. She didn't want lose this feeling that was part joy and, strangely, part nostalgia. Darcy obliged and held her hand.

When they entered her apartment she couldn't help but kiss him hungrily before she had remembered to shut the door. The door was forgotten until, just a few minutes later, she heard the loud thud of it bouncing against the doorframe. She jumped away.

"Excuse me. I was only trying to close the door without letting you go."

Elizabeth laughed, too loud and long for the situation. She felt a little crazy, but Darcy joined in and she couldn't help but jump and wrap her legs around him until he brought them to bedroom like it was the most natural thing in the world.

In a way, it didn't feel like she had a choice when it came to Darcy. It was if they were two magnets apart but being constantly drawn together without needing any help. When they came together it dulled a need she hadn't even been aware of. It was hard to describe even to herself what it was like without dipping into clichés. But how can something this insane fit a cliché, she asked herself.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she woke from another strange dream she didn't want to tell Darcy about, but he had stirred when she did. The bedroom was bright with the moody, yellow glow of street lamps and she distracted him from any inquiry to her unconscious adventures by moving her hands over his chest and stomach softly.

"What's this?" She asked as she traced a scar on his abdomen.

"When I was little I liked climbing trees."

"I can't even picture you doing that now."

"I fell and received a deep gash on my side by an unfortunately sharp tree branch. The blood soaked through my shirt. My mother was furious, but now I imagine she was only scared. The doctor was close and able to close the wound."

She smiled and kissed him lightly, anxiety for the events of the next day leaving her silent and her heart beating a little too fast.

Darcy, though, was reminded of Pemblerley, his own heart swelling at the thought of Elizabeth gracing its grounds once more.


	14. Departure

A/N: Tiny, baby chapter, but here it is! Review if you'd like!

"Are you scared?" Elizabeth asked. They had stopped to say goodbye in Central Park before walking to the school where the vortex only Darcy could witness would suck him back to his time.

Darcy shook his head. "I did this once before. The experience wasn't too terrible," he paused, remembering suddenly waking up in a hospital with no memory of his journey there, "It wasn't too terrible that I can remember," he smiled wryly.

"Wait. The last time you came back they found you in some alley. How will I find you? What if you get a worse injury than a cut?" She reached up and touched the injury gingerly.

He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. Elizabeth, usually put off by overtly romantic gestures, only stood closer still. "I'll come to you. I can do this now. As for getting hurt, I believe it was from disorientation more than anything. Elizabeth, I— Do you trust me?"

"I do. I do."

"Trust me when I say I know everything will be fine. We found each other once. I cannot give credit to luck alone."

She kissed him swiftly in response. "How long will you be? Just remind me."

"Only two days."

"I'm just nervous, you know?" She shoved her hands into the pockets of jeans and pulled them out again, bringing them through her hair and then shoving them in her pockets.

"Yes. I can see that."

She rolled her eyes, edgy. "I can't believe you're not. This is some sort of hubris, I'm sure," Elizabeth said with a viciousness to her voice she didn't mean, but felt.

"No. I've done this before. It wasn't painful. This isn't pride; this is confidence," he smiled to ease her discomfort and took her hand. She couldn't return the smile.

"Besides the unconsciousness and the head wound and not knowing exactly where you'll end up," she replied

"It will be fine. I will come back. I have to now. I can't know you are here and be apart from you."

She kicked at some pebbles on the sidewalk, silent for a few long moments. "I'm being ridiculous. You either come back or you don't. What will be, will be, right?"

"No. Don't say that. You have to know that I will. Does this not all seem to be apart of something more grand than anything you've encountered? I feel entirely sure of…I feel the same as when I was young and reading poetry and just felt the pull of the mysteries of life and that taste of something divine." He grabbed her hands roughly and pulled them towards his chest. "I never speak like this. I'm rambling. I am usually a rational, often serious man—"

Elizabeth cut him off. "Yes. I know."

"But _how_ do you know? We've only had a week together. I understand that you don't wish me to speak of this, but Elizabeth, we've known each other before. You've known me before. You're afraid, but I've never felt more confident in anything in my life. We were drawn together."

She didn't have a response, but quickly kissed him, his stubble scratching at her chin, a slight for the speed of her affection. "You better go," she murmured, still unable to look him in the eyes, "so you can come back."

"Elizabeth," he said, resting his palm on her neck, fingers tilting her chin to look at him and kissed her slowly. "I ardently love you."

"I love you," she smiled and then gently pushed him away. "But I'm serious. Go. Let's get this over with."

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, looking at her for a long moment before he carefully took each stair and disappeared behind the imposing oak door.

And suddenly there was a strange void in Elizabeth's life. She felt the ache of something lost and tried to comfort herself it was only a couple of days. She decided to walk home. The walk took an hour at her shuffling pace, but each step a comfort against an empty apartment and an arrangement with no obvious solutions. Through the sting of loss (however unwarranted), she berated herself at the quickness of her feelings and the danger of melodramatics. She thought of the future with Darcy and the relative hopeless position of a man with no skills, education, friends, or family. He could not go on living at her apartment with nothing to fulfill him besides him besides her. She could not imagine such a life for herself.

Though her actions the last week would prove contrary, she always imagined herself as a realist. Love could fade and more so without the fulfillment of self. Love was enough to live on for a short period, but for longer? She wanted to scream suddenly. 'Shut it, Elizabeth,' she told herself, 'Let's just take this one step at a time.'

Darcy, meanwhile, found himself in a dirty alley full of mud. Horses and their carriages trotting by, his presence unremarked by the bustle around him. Though he was technically home, he was not home at all. Home was Pemberley. Home was Elizabeth. He was determined to have both again.

He gave a for his relatively uninjured state and set to make his way home. Already he was composing a letter to Pemberley's housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds and his steward. Perhaps he would even open the townhouse in London. Would Elizabeth enjoy the city there or would all its rules and games discourage her? He could live sequestered in the country with no society if it meant having Elizabeth back. But could she? The thought had gnawed at him, buzzing in the back of his mind, but he had been successfully ignoring it. Still, he decided against writing Georgiana of his anticipated arrival on the small chance he would not be able to convince Elizabeth to come with him to England. 19th century England. Their lives were so incongruous. He dismissed the last thought. If he thought about it at length, he knew Elizabeth would have her reservations. But they had been so happy at Pemberley before. He was determined to have his way. Was it so selfish to want his life back?


	15. Return

On the third day of Darcy's absence Elizabeth was annoyed by his tardiness. By the fourth day, her annoyance had grew to a fluttering anxiety. On the fifth day, she spent the day scavenging the city with Meg. There was no trace of him, no hospitals with patients under Fitzwilliam Darcy or John Does that matched his description. By the 10th day, Meg tried to give her pep talk about the complexities of time travel which she had learned through _Doctor Who_. At the end of two long weeks, she started to tell her herself he wasn't coming back.

The second month of his absence she could almost convince herself it had been a dream if it weren't for the dull ache she still carried for him. Sometime during the third month she had fell back into to old habits and slept with her neighbor, which felt wrong so that before they were even finished, she bolted off of him, threw on her clothes and darted out the door. By the fourth, pathetic month Meg had finally gotten her to go out on a few blind dates. She even managed to date one of them for two weeks, but ghosted him like a coward because the name Darcy was on the tip of her tongue during every conversation with him.

The worst part about it were the dreams. She slept deeply every night, but when she woke it was if she hadn't slept at all. She dreamt of Darcy. She dreamt of a version of herself she didn't recognize. She dreamt of family that wasn't hers. In her dreams, she loved Darcy fiercely, more than she could recall ever loving anyone in her life. He returned her love in a way she could never quite understand. They were so different from one another, but alike in ways that caused friction between them. They almost always managed to make up quickly. In her dreams most of their interactions were a tangle of petty arguments and laughter, quick banter and languid intimacy. In one dream, she was alone and pregnant and she wandered a wild garden for hours. The Elizabeth in her dream whispered things she could not hear and could not understand, but she knew it had been meant for her. When she woke up, her throat ached and her forehead burned.

By the fifth month of his absence she was even a little repulsed by herself. What was one week in a lifetime? He probably was married and living on the UWS with his wife and two children. He was a liar and a creep and that's the story that should make the most sense. But she could never could convince herself of the reality that made the most sense.

Her only option was to throw herself into her work. She started to run. She even bought a keyboard in hopes of finally learning to play the piano. By the sixth month she could do a mean "Jingle Bells." She was starting to feel normal again. When she woke up in the morning she happy and rested. It felt good.

And then one day, there he was. Standing outside of her apartment building, finger on her buzzer, wearing 19th century clothing. His hair was closely cropped and he was clean shaven. It was an unseasonably warm February day. Wet and dirty.

She was half a block away from her building, walking home from the bodega with milk and cereal, still red face and sweating from her run. At the sight of him, her stomach dropped and she felt a nervous heaviness in her muscles. With all the angst of the past months, she suddenly wished this wasn't happening. She turned away, wanting to hide, but he had seen her. He called her name, but she kept walking. Her mind was blank. Her stomach in knots.

Darcy strode quickly to catch up to her. He was sure she had seen him. What if moving back and forth between time had changed past events? Or was it future events? What if she didn't know him now? He had woken in an alley, but his mind had been clear. He remembered her address. It had only been a few days. The air was colder. The trees were bare. But it had been a few days, surely. He didn't let himself think of any other possibilities; he only thought of returning to her. Now she seemed to be running away from him. He reached out and took her hand, "Elizabeth. It's me."

She turned, her heart beating in her throat. She choked out, "Where have you been?"

"You know where I've been. Where do you suppose I've been?" he laughed nervously.

She took a step back, shaking her head. "You've been gone for six months. You said a few days. I thought…"

His heart dropped. "Six months? No, it's been three days. I assure you. I was only just here with you."

"Darcy. It's been six months." With that she started to cry.

"Elizabeth, Elizabeth. Don't cry. We'll sort it out. You'll see."

"I don't know why I'm crying." She put her hands over her face. "It's weird to see you again. I honestly thought…" she trailed off.

Darcy gently took her hand and moved them aside, grasping her jaw and brushing his thumb across her cheek. "I've missed you." He felt his face reddening, suddenly aware that they were still standing on the street and he was caressing her face in public, though he could not say anyone passing seemed to notice.

"You're blushing," she observed, a slight smile on her lips, a sob still in her throat.

"I know you haven't spoken to me in six months, but perhaps we can move somewhere more private."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand.

When they got inside the apartment, she dropped her bags onto the kitchen counter and leaned against the counter, folding her arms against her chest. Darcy placed a small cloth bag on the table by the door and sat down on the couch. A uncomfortable minute passed before anyone spoke.

"This isn't a great time to be," she paused thoughtfully, "taciturn."

"Excuse me. I am unsure where to begin."

"Me too. I was hoping you would start." She laughed. "I missed you," she said as she frowned.

"I missed you."

"It really wasn't the same though, was it?"

"No," he agreed.

"I felt insane and I couldn't really tell anybody. The only person who sort of knows is Meg and she definitely thinks I'm crazy already. I didn't need anyone else to confirm that for me," she paused and sat on the other side of the couch. "I was just so irrationally sad, and I couldn't tell anyone without also feeling like an idiot. I mean, we spent one week together six months ago. That's a blip. I hardly know anything about you, really."

Darcy began to protest, but she stopped him. "Come on. I don't, Darcy. I feel like I do, but that's not really the same as actually knowing you," Elizabeth paused to think about what she said and laughed softly. "Those kinds of thoughts are why I couldn't talk to anybody since you left. I just had to…grieve on my own, but at the same time doubt myself the whole way because it wasn't rational." She began to twist a thin gold ring on her right hand, keeping her eyes down. She groaned, "I finally kind of got over you and now you're back to mess it up."

Darcy stood up quickly and walked to the window and looked down at the street; the cars and the bike messengers and the street lights. Things he didn't know about two weeks ago. He turned to Elizabeth, his heart thumping, afraid to ask his next question. "What do you want then?"

Elizabeth didn't answer.

Darcy gave her a strained smile and turned back around.

After a moment of deliberating, she got up and took his hand, looking at the window with him. She quietly said, "I want you. I've missed you so much."

He turned to her and smiled so brilliantly, she couldn't help smiled back, even with all of her fears and questions. He leaned down and kissed her deeply until she was pushing the wool jacket off his shoulders eager to stop thinking for a while.

Suddenly, she took a step back and smiled up at him, laughing. "Look at you. I feel like I'm living a founding father fantasy I never knew I had." She straightened his jacket. "The pants are killing me though."

"I believe they are referred to as breeches," he said dryly, leaning down to kiss her neck.

She gently tugged at the white cloth around his neck and expertly untied it, tossing it to the couch. Elizabeth laughed. "I didn't know I could do that." Kissing him, she felt like she could breathe again. She sighed and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him. "Let's go to my room," she murmured into his chest.

He acquiesced, pulling her up by her hips, so that Elizabeth could wrap her legs around him. The endeavor was successful until Darcy became overconfidently began to walk backwards towards the bedroom, not wishing to pause in his attentions towards Elizabeth, tripped over a small table and fell backward with Elizabeth falling with him elbowing quite forcefully in the ribs. He immediately sat up, clutching his bruised ribs, groaning.

Elizabeth could not stop laughing from the moment they hit the ground. "I'm so sorry," she managed to say through her tears of laughter. "Seriously. Are you okay?"

"You have nothing to be sorry about. I toppled us over," he squeaked out, the wind knocked out of him.

"Let me see it." He gave her a hesitant look. "Are you serious right now? I'm a doctor."

"I know. I know. But it hurts."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Don't be a baby." She leaned over and kissed his nose. "Lay down."

"On the floor?"

"Yes."

He laid back down gingerly.

"Sorry if my fingers are cold." She untucked his shirt and pushed it up. A bright red mark the size of her fist appeared on his lower right ribs. She pushed on it, gently and Darcy hissed through his teeth. "Well, I think you bruised a rib," she offered.

He propped himself up on his elbows. "The marvels of modern medicine."

"Rude." She smirked and ran her fingertips over his ribs. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. She scooted down and gave him soft kiss on the bruise. "Does it feel better yet?"

"I can breathe. That's a promising start."

"Maybe some more doctoring would help."

He opened his mouth to reply, when she began trailing kiss along his chest and stomach.

"Elizabeth…" he murmured.

"Hmmm?" she replied, moving up to kiss his neck.

"Shall we move to the bed?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Why?"

He looked at her incredulously. "I cannot- You cannot expect me to-" He started as she began to laugh at him.

"Fine." She stood and offered her hand.

Lying in bed afterwards, all she could think of was the pressing reality of their reunion.

Darcy noticed the long silence and tentatively asked what she was thinking.

She looked at him. "What are we going to do now?"

He began to fiddle with the sheets. "We've only just reunited," he said nervously, shrugging. He wanted to wait for the right moment to give her the ring and share his plan.

"Yes. True. Ok. Let's just have fun." She got out of bed and dressed quickly, combing her dark wavy hair with her fingers.

Darcy put on his lawn shirt and reached for his breeches on the floor.

"No, not the breeches. I still have your things. From before," she said embarrassed that she held on to the them. She reached into the top of her wardrobe and pulled out a pile of jeans, boxers, and tee shirts. "They're from the summer. You're going to be cold." She was suddenly angry. "So do we go buy more things for you? Maybe you just keep a wardrobe for any weather, so when you leave and come back six months later, you have something to wear."

Darcy pulled on boxers and jeans. "Are you angry with me?

"Yes!" She sighed. "No. I'm frustrated I guess. I want to just have fun with you. But, I can't. I mean I just lost you. I don't want…I can't want to do this again." She began pulling the comforter up to make the bed. "I mean do we have fun for another week? A month?"

He leaned over and stilled her hand with his. "I don't intend to part from you."

"Oh." She sat down on the bed. "There's like a million things to figure out." He sat down next to her gingerly. "I _like_ having fun by the way. I like playing fast and loose. Just not with you, I guess. This sucks."

"Would you like to decide everything now?" Darcy asked hesitantly.

"No. Yes?"

He took a deep breath. "You could go back with me. We could back to England. To Pemberley."

Elizabeth mouth indelicately fell open. "Darcy, are you kidding? It's not going back to me. Not at all. I mean, I went to London for three days in 2010."

"Oh! It's not in London. I only go to town when it's required of me. You would be quite happy at Pemberley. It's my home."

"Darcy, I would love it for a week. But there's some obviously not great things about England 200 years ago." She could see him ready to argue the point. "Let me stop you. I couldn't vote or have a job. I couldn't do what I love, Darce. What would I do all day? How could I have any friends? The more I think about it, the more appalling the idea of going back with you is." His face crumpled at her harsh words. "That's not exactly what I meant, but don't you see? The only thing I would have is you."

"Isn't that enough?" he asked.

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming at his words. "It's not," she croaked. "My heart will be broken without you. You, mean so much to me, but-"

He cut her off angrily, "But I am not equal to your job and your friends."

Her temper flared and she jumped off the bed. "Did you ever even entertain the idea of staying here? I know it's not perfect, but women have rights, they can have jobs, own property, slavery is illegal, all children can go to school, there's, like, actual medicine. I can think of million other better things than a big house."

Darcy started at the demeaning of Pemberley. "My family is there, Elizabeth. I have a responsibility to care for the legacy of my family and our property."

"Sure. I get that. But, guess what? I don't know if you ever bothered to Google this, but I'm pretty sure all those huge houses are owned by the government or hotels or something now. So that legacy you're working for is basically useless."

His face became expressionless. "You're angry. We can't possibly talk about this clearly."

She quickly stood and started towards the door. "I'm angry, but I'm thinking clearly. Fine, we don't have to talk about this anymore."

Darcy's instinct was to let her leave, but that had never worked in his marriage; it only wrought further pain. She had hurt him, but he couldn't let it stay like this. He needed her.

"Elizabeth, please. I brought you something." He left the room and grabbed the sack he had brought with him off the table. As he stepped back into the room, he produced a small box out of the bag.

"Darcy…" Elizabeth began.

He opened the box, taking a small gold and ruby ring out of it. "This ring has been with my family for generations. I brought it as a symbol of my devotion to you," He gave her a weak smile, "It seems ridiculous, does it not?"

"I don't know what to say," she said quietly. "I was suddenly afraid you were going to ask me to marry you."

Darcy looked incredulous. "Of course I am. That was not the proposal. Though, I do intend to marry you, Elizabeth, of course."

"Of course? Well. Ok. Am I-? Are you honestly-?" she stopped and shook her head. "Darcy, let's be reasonable about this. A minute ago you said you just wanted to have fun."

"I never said a thing like that. I only wanted to enjoy the moment before all of this," he said, gesturing between them. "Though, I didn't think it would be like this."

"What did you think was going to happen?" she asked sincerely.

"Well, I thought you would say yes, Elizabeth." She looked at him in shock. "I did. You said you loved me. When we were together, just now, in your bed. I felt…" he trailed off, "You felt it too. I know you love me."

She looked at him sadly, almost with pity. He looked down at his hands to escape the look. "It's not about love, Darce. I haven't seen you in six months. I need some time to adjust."

He met her eyes with frustration. "Good God, Elizabeth. Need I remind you that I suggested that earlier?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You're being rude. Let's just be clear. I will not move to 18whatever-crappy-year with you and I will not marry you." She turned and left the room.

Darcy groaned with frustration with Elizabeth and himself. He sat on the bed again, putting his head in his hands. For the past three days he had only thought of giving her the ring and proposing. He was meant to be eloquent and passionate; she receptive and loving. What just happened between them wasn't at all what it was supposed to have been like. Once again, his revolve built. He got up and strode out the room. Elizabeth was in the kitchen, holding a glass of water. He took the glass out of her hand and put it on the counter. Tentatively, he took her hand his.

"Elizabeth, forgive me. I neglected to think of your feelings. I made a grievous error in judgement. Would you be willing to give me a day and then perhaps we can decide our future or lack of one? My fingertips are aching to touch you. Please, bestow them the generosity I know makes up your character." He smiled cheekily and Elizabeth couldn't help but smile back. He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her close, leaning over and pushing his head into the crook of neck, taking in her warmth and scent. Elizabeth sighed softly and melted into him. It felt like standing at the edge of cliff.


	16. Deliberation

If they weren't going to dwell on their future or past, getting out of the apartment was of the utmost importance. Elizabeth dragged him to her favorite ramen place for dinner and took him to the latest superhero movie. Which turned out to be a mistake as Darcy couldn't help but whisper questions every few minutes about the characters' behavior and motivations. Half of her was annoyed, especially when she noticed the glares from the man sitting next to her, but the other half was secretly pleased to have his lips close to her ear and relished his hand in hers again.

The next day they went to her favorite brunch spot and then to the Met, something she hadn't done in years. They wandered the galleries, looking at sculpture and furniture and paintings familiar to Darcy and then to some that utterly confounded him, much to Elizabeth's delight as she was able to tease him mercilessly for it.

Finally, they ended up in the Asian wing, sitting close on a bench, staring at an expansive, ancient painting of the Buddha.

"What did you do while you were gone?" she whispered tentatively, almost not wanting to know, but unable to stop herself any longer. She felt irrationally angry at the time discrepancy, especially as she envisioned his unhurried, carefree days and her months worry and grief.

"Answered letters of business and letters to family. I had my valet trim my hair. I prefer it unfashionably short. Elizabeth was forever asking me grow it longer. Er, my wife, I mean." She nodded and shrugged, reaching to push back the hair at the front of his head. He caught her hand and intertwined her fingers with his and smiled teasingly at her. "I had thought someone would have missed my absence, but it seems life just carried on without me. It is strange, though."

"What is?" She asked.

"That no one seemed to be disturbed that I had disappeared for over two weeks. My servants had their own ideas: either I had escaped to the country or had been purchasing land. Nobody from society wrote or called. It was just reminder how lonely my life had become and how silly I had been to come to New York."

"Um, I believe I've heard that New York is the greatest city in the world," Elizabeth teased, unsure of what to say.

"Yes, some may say that. Well, I don't believe they said that in my time."

"No, maybe not."

"The more I think about my reasons for leaving England, the more unsound they become. I can explain why I had left, but it seems so far away now. I told my family it was to expand our holdings and ventures. I told myself it was to escape life without my wife. However, that argument is flimsy, too. Why would I not travel to Scotland or the Continent? "

"Maybe you really wanted to be a part of young nation's history?"

He looked at her curiously. "No, I don't believe so," he answered seriously until he caught her smirk. Darcy looked towards the Buddha again for a moment. "A part of me almost is beginning to believe that I was being pulled to you."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. A giant group of tourists entered the room, chattering noisily. Darcy stood and grabbed Elizabeth's hand, entwining their fingers and he led her out of the gallery to the next one. "Before I met my wife I didn't hold stock in thoughts like these. After we wed, I could admit the wonder of coincidence because without it I would have never married her. I've must have gotten sentimental because I thoroughly feel as though we are being brought together now."

Elizabeth stopped and pulled him toward a darkened, empty corner, not letting go of his hand. She stared down at their hands for a long while, trying to come up with the words to explain how she felt. Trying to be brave enough to admit how she felt. "It's hard for me to admit, as you know, but I feel it too, Darce. You were in my life for only a week and then gone for six months, but every time you show up it feels like you have always been here or were meant to be here, at least. In a strange way, I feel as if I know myself better when you are here. And I never believed in any of this nonsense. I don't want to be a puzzle piece. I don't want to be completed by another person, but it seems as if I have no control. What I mean is, I love you. Against all common sense, I love you."

Darcy smiled broadly and lowered his head to kiss her, but suddenly laughed and took a small step backwards.

"What?"

"So you say you love me against your sense? Would you say you love against your will and character?"

"What? Sure, I guess."

"The beauty of irony. Should I take offense to this?"

Elizabeth, exasperated with his private joke, retorted, "Of course not. It's a compliment, really." She rolled her eyes and shoved her hands in her pockets, wandering out of the room. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her tightly against him, kissing her deeply and thoroughly. After a minute, she stepped away and looked around. Her face reddened, noticing a few looks from strangers. She smiled up at him, "Let's go home."

They took the subway in a comfortable silence, sitting with their legs pressed together side by side. Elizabeth's joy was blooming, threatening to take over all her resolves except for the nagging thought in the back of her mind that this joy was temporary. Their presents were intertwined, but their futures were meant to unravel. She did the best she could to keep this thought boxed up neatly in a far corner of her mind.

"I'll make you some dinner. Don't except much. Just chicken noodle soup." Elizabeth went over and pressed a button on a small, white speaker on the corner. "Do you mind if I put on some music?" Darcy shook his head. She fiddled with her phone. "Do you even like the music I listen to? It's pretty different than…Beethoven? Was Beethoven a thing in 1818?"

Darcy smirked, "Yes, I believe he was a thing. I had the pleasure to attend many concerts composed by the man." He paused to listen to the music she put on as she pulled out ingredients from the fridge. "I must confess, that while I do not necessarily dislike this music, it does seem to lack in refinement and feeling." He took an onion from her hand and found a knife in a drawer as she began to cook chicken in large pot over the stove.

"Feeling? This music had plenty of feeling. I mean, okay, not everything you've heard is abundant in feeling, but I have a ton of music with it. Let me find a song." She grabbed her phone and began searching for something to convince him. After deliberating for a few minutes, scrolling while pushing chicken around the pan while Darcy stared at her expectantly, she gave up and put on a song that made _her_ happy. "Move On Up" by Curtis Mayfield. Darcy resumed dicing the onion. After a minute he spoke, "No, I cannot say that this is comparable to the feeling conveyed in aria sung with passion."

"You didn't say it had to compare. I'm just showing a song with feeling. Happy is a feeling. Hope is a feeling."

"Of course," he allowed, "But great music should allow one to feel connected to something magnificent and awe inspiring, like all great art should. Mere happiness is not an emotion one needs music to feel." He stopped dicing a moment wipe the tears from his eyes.

Elizabeth stayed his hand, "Don't wipe your eyes before you've washed them. You'll make it worse." She thought for moment, "Hey, mere happiness? Okay, fine. But I still feel like answered the question your original challenge that my music lacks feeling. I just showed you a song that has a feeling." She smiled cheekily at him and then suddenly frowned at him.

"What is it?" he said, pausing again over the onion he was painstakingly dicing.

"You are so slow. Move over and let me finish." She nudged him with her hip.

"Give me a fair chance. This is only the second onion I have ever chopped."

"I'll let you practice later. Maybe you could use that to occupy your time while I'm at work." She said offhandedly, regretting her words as she heard them aloud.

Darcy stilled at her comment, but said nothing, turning to wash his hands.

She finished chopping the onion, while Darcy observed her intently, taking in her long fingers and slender neck.

"I'll cut my finger off with you staring at me like that."

Darcy said nothing, but bent to kiss her neck. "I'm definitely going to chop a finger off with you doing that."

"I can never part from you," he murmured. She turned at looked at him sadly, pushing up on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Darcy," she started.

"Fitzwilliam."

She stepped back and gave him a crooked smile. "Fitzwilliam." A new song began to play on the speaker and Elizabeth jumped back to turn it up. "This song. This song kills me. It just feels exactly how love feels. Exciting and scary and painful." She turned back to the now overcooked chicken and began to sing softly with the song.

Darcy leaned against the wall to listen. The instruments sounded harsh to his ear and the melody left something to be desired, but to hear Elizabeth's clear, steady singing again was overwhelming. He closed his eyes, his heart bursting and melting through his chest. He could never leave her.

After a fruitful evening of starting a few television shows and then abandoning them because of Darcy's social and political gaps in knowledge, Elizabeth vowed to stick to _House Hunters_ and they retired to her room.

Though it was close to midnight, the light in the room was bright from the snow falling outside from the purple sky. Elizabeth had dragged a few more quilts to the bed to stave off the cold that had suddenly come again that day.

Darcy left to brush his teeth and came back to Elizabeth cocooned in a giant lavender quilt. He laughed softly and laid down beside her on his side, but not touching her. "Are you cold, dear?"

She kept her eyes closed, but nodded affirmatively. He reached out to touch her cheek softly and then brush her lips with his thumb.

She let out a small laugh, "That-"

He cut her off with his mouth. After a few moments he began to remove the quilt around her, whispering huskily, "I can keep you warm."

She both flushed and smirked at the line, wondering for a brief moment at his ability to make her desire him so.

Later, lying in the dark in the stillness, feeling so full of joy and love her fear and worry overcame her. "I almost wish this had never happened. I wish we could take it back," she whispered.

"How can you say that?"

"My life was easier before this. Wasn't yours? I don't know what I'm doing. It feels like I can't even breathe sometimes. I don't want to be hurt again by you. And I don't want to lose you. I just want to know everything will be alright." She cursed the tears streaming down her cheeks and pushed her face into the pillow.

"You can't, Elizabeth. I cannot see how we will solve our problems, but I would not ever rescind my love for you." He gently turned her face towards him. "Finding you has taught me hope as I had scarcely allowed myself before. I had never felt more alone that I had before I came here. This may be unpredictable and an utterly impossible situation, but I would rather have this than to confine myself to the comfort of routine and security. I will always choose you."

She nodded and then scowled. "I'm 28. But I feel like a tall child. I'm crying like a child."

He brushed her hair back and her tears. Kissing her cheek the bridge of her nose and her brow softly.

"How are we going to figure this out?" she asked.

"Allow us a few more days. The solution may present itself in time."

She nodded. "And if it doesn't?"

"Let's just focus on the future as it makes us happy," he said smiling slightly.

"I have to work tomorrow. What will you do?"

"It seems we ate the last of your food. I could do the shopping."

"Ah. There's my house boy."

Darcy paused and for a minute before getting up the courage to say what he was thinking. "This is rather indecorous of me to mention, but in my time, I do have money and position, Elizabeth. If you choose to become mistress of Pemberley, you needn't ever cook or clean or buy groceries. It's rather freeing. You would want for nothing."

"Well, I barely do those things as it is. What happened to focusing on the present?" She nudged his shoulder.

He didn't answer. Instead he said, "Elizabeth, my wife, used that same phrase, also. A tall child. It is funny that you should use it."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I know she did."

"You do?"

"I dream about her sometimes."

He nodded, taking in the information.

"It's kind of creepy when I say it out loud."

"Creepy?"

"Eerie."

"Is it eerie when you dream it?"

She shook her head no. "It just feels vivid. You know, I never thought about how I knew I dreamt of your wife. How did I know it was her?" They were silent for a moment. "She looks just like me. Her voice sounds like mine too. But she isn't me, exactly."

"No you aren't exactly her, that's true."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's too weird."

They settled into each other silently, thinking over all they couldn't say out loud.

*I stole the phrase "tall child" from the Mitski song, "First Love/Late Spring."


	17. Gradual

A few weeks passed in an edgy state of bliss. They were happy when they weren't thinking or talking or casually mentioning the future. They learned to choose their words carefully and focus on the moment, whatever that meant. For Darcy, the pleasure of being with her alleviated the hours of severe boredom and uselessness that he felt when she was gone and he was determined to win her to his side through waiting patiently.

The hours she was gone were long. He filled the time as best he could. He read, he visited the library, he Googled, he attained a wealth of knowledge which stimulated him, depressed him, and astounded him. It was an odd feeling to be so adrift and in need of employment when he had no employment in his life before. But he had always had purpose: to tend to his property, promote and uphold his family, sustain social connections. Here all he had was Elizabeth. In her presence, that was enough. It was even almost enough when she was gone.

They mostly stuck with each other. For a few awkward days, her brother, Jack, was in town and took Darcy's old place on the couch. Jack's incredulousness of Darcy and his lack of job or possessions was underneath everything he said to Darcy. Elizabeth was jumpy and full of excuses for him. Darcy resented her a little for this and longed for a time when the truth was a clear thing that was easy to express.

They ate Chinese on the floor in front of the TV. They ate at crowded, loud restaurants. Strolled parks. Took two stunted jogs at Elizabeth's encouragement and Darcy's embarrassment. Played billiards at a pool hall Darcy had found through a Google search and taught her to play properly. They laughed. They argued. In a few weeks it felt as if the world was only them.

The end of their world came gradually as much as it came swiftly. One rainy afternoon, they were hunkered down in the living room reading. Elizabeth slouched on the navy sofa, her bare feet stretched out onto the coffee table. Darcy had laid his head in her lap, his own bare feet stretched well past the arm of the sofa. He had moved on from books published in the early part of the 19th century and was working his way through a list of the best books published in the 19th century. It had been Elizabeth's idea for Darcy to work chronologically through time. It had become almost pleasurable for Darcy to witness the gradual shift of values and ideals. He figured by the time he reached the latter half of the 20th century he might be able to understand the world around him better. Though _The Origin of_ _Species_ shocking enough, he was beginning to beexcited by what else he might discover.

When the doorbell rang, Elizabeth quickly scooted Darcy off her lap to answer it.

She opened the door. "Jake?"

"Elizabeth," he replied with a smile and reached over to hug her. "It's been forever. You haven't responded to any of my texts."

She leaned into the hug awkwardly. "Yes, it has. What's up?"

"I think the last time I saw you, you were naked in my bed."

"Jake," Elizabeth glanced at Darcy and stepped out into the hallway. "Listen, that's over. Like really over."

"I know. You say that every time. I just haven't seen you in a while and I can't stop thinking about how sexy and fun you are."

"Or how bored you are."

"That too," he smiled broadly, his white teeth showing.

"Well, I'm serious. I'm done."

"Are you seeing someone?"

Elizabeth hesitated. "Kind of. Sort of. It's not really any of your business."

Jake threw his hands up. "All right. All right. I'm going. No harm in trying. But you know where I live."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shut the door, locking it. Jake's interruption making her irritable. Suddenly, her sweater was too tight. The waistband of her pants too loose. Her skin itchy.

Darcy was sitting upright on the sofa, frowning at his book in a distant way. Obviously not reading in a way that would be funny if the reason wasn't her. She sat down and he stood up to walk to the window. She rolled her eyes. "Let's cut this argument short. You're giving me the silent treatment. What did I do?"

Her turned. "Kind of seeing someone?"

Elizabeth pulled a pillow up to her face and groaned loudly into it. "You're upset I didn't tell my sleazy neighbor that I'm seeing someone that traveled from 1818?"

"Don't do that. Don't make me to be the fool. I'm upset that weeks later I am still not a legitimate part of your life."

"You are. Of course you are. We're living together."

Darcy crossed his arms in front of his chest. "As if that means anything. You don't introduce me to any of your acquaintances. I feel as if you are hiding me."

Elizabeth stood up, her voice softening. "You're just hard to explain. I am hiding you. But it's hard for me too. I barely even see anyone besides you outside of work. I'm basically lying to everyone I know."

"If it's so difficult, then why not tell the truth?"

She rolled her eyes. "I can't do that."

"At least tell them you've decided to live with a man in the last few weeks who has no income, no profession, no family, and an inferior education."

Elizabeth sighed and slouched against the arm of the couch. "And then when they ask why, what do I say then?"

"I don't know, Elizabeth, but we can't go on like this. It seems reasonable to tell the truth and weather whatever comes or doesn't come with that."

"No one will believe me. Believe us. It's madness."

Darcy took a step towards her and took her hand. "Living like this is madness. I'm going mad. I feel trapped in this box of an apartment, waiting for you to come home every day. There must be a change, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth took her hand from him and reached up to place it on his cheek, "You think telling people the truth will make things better for you here?"

Darcy paused. "No," he murmured. Pulling up his courage, he bit out, "Come back with me. We can leave next week. We can start an actual life together."

"This is what you think is the inevitable choice. Will we tell everyone the truth there?"

"No. Of course not-" he began quickly.

"Why will it be different then?"

"We can easily create a plausible story for your appearance and then shortly after sail back to England where I would tell anyone inquiring the truth: I met you in America. But, we needn't even be in society and explain ourselves to those who do not matter to me."

Elizabeth sighed, frowning, "I still don't see how this plan is any different than our situation here." Darcy started to speak, but she cut him off, "Oh. I see now. It's different for _you_. I get to assume your role here, but I should be perfectly pleased. I'm sorry, I would love to be your little wife and live in your giant house with no life for the rest of my life."

Darcy grimaced. "I do not believe irony is fruitful right now."

"Sorry, I'm just super frustrated that you still feel like me going back in time is plausible. It's like you're not even hearing me."

"Of course I can hear you. You are speaking rather loudly."

"I mean you're not listening. You're not processing what I am saying and using it to inform your thoughts."

Darcy was silent for a moment.

Elizabeth began again, "If I go back with you, you would want to go back England right?"

He nodded.

"What is that, like a three month boat ride?"

"It is not the 15th century, Elizabeth. It take a little less than a month."

"A month!"

Darcy scowled.

They were silent.

"I would never see my family again," Elizabeth said after a while.

"Do you see them that often as it is?"

She glared at him. "I would never see my friends again."

"Perhaps. Perhaps, we could stay in New York."

"In 1818?"

"Yes. Then we could come back to visit. We could then visit my family and estate once a year. I could make that sacrifice for you."

"What sacrifice?"

"Staying permanently in New York and all that entails. Being estranged from my family. Then, you would be able to visit here once a year or so."

"I would never practice medicine again."

"You might practice on me," he tried, smiling gently.

She rolled her eyes. He dropped his smile.

They stared at each other for a hard minute until Darcy gave a undignified sigh of exasperation. "You are incorrigibly stubborn as ever."

"Stubborn? We're not debating restaurant choice or music. _It's my life._ "

"It's mine as well, Elizabeth."

"I know that. You don't think I know that? I think about every day." She dropped her eyes and toed a stain on the Turkish rug. "Right after I think about how much I love coming home and telling you about my day, after I think about your skin and your hair and your hands, after I think about how much I love you, I love us. Then I remember you have no life here with me and you're just stuck in this apartment all day."

He took a step towards her and cradled her head on his chest. "Elizabeth. How could I ever part from you?"

It was then that she knew.

He felt her shoulders begin to shake and then a sob escaped her. And then another.

"You-" she started, unable to finish. "Darce-" Another sob overtook her. She pulled away from him abruptly and sunk down in the nearby chair.

Darcy sank down on his knees in front of her. She covered her face and sobbed.

Terrifying, humiliating sobs. When she finally couldn't cry any longer, she looked at him, eyes bright and red, her cheeks shiny with tears and blotchy. Darcy moved to kiss her cheeks, her eyes, her jaw.

She forced herself to gain some sort of resolve. "Darcy," she started too loudly.

"Fitzwilliam," she began again, barely whispering the name. "You can't stay here. I can't go with you. This is it."

Darcy's face hardened. "I am afraid I cannot comprehend your meaning. You cannot possibly mean to, to… You do not mean to end our connection?"

Tears began to stream down Elizabeth's face again. "It's the only way. The only thing. There's no solution. There's nothing for you here besides me and there's nothing for me there besides you. You're getting restless. You've been on edge, cooped up here with no job or friends or purpose. Don't you see? That's how it will be for me. We'll end up miserable no matter what we choose."

Darcy stood and walked towards the window. Elizabeth followed, grasping his hand. He squeezed her fingertips and let go.

"I cannot. I cannot lose you again," he said firmly.

"You must."

He was silent.

"Go back to England. Be with your family. Run your estate. You'll meet someone new. I'll become a faded memory. That's how these things work."

He turned sharply to face her. "After all this time, you still do not understand the depth of my feelings for you. Elizabeth, you are everything I have wanted, or will want. Without you, I am husk of a man." He paused and let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Of course you do not truly understand. It has been but a matter of months for you. Weeks even. You cannot love me as I love you, if you did you would be willingly to tolerate any _boredom_ ," his voice turning cold and condescending.

Elizabeth took a step back, almost feeling as if he had struck her with his words and demeanor. "You say that you love me, but in the next breath your cruel and unfeeling. You belittle my feelings and logic. This already isn't working. Look at you. If I went back with you, you would be my lifeline. How can I trust you to listen to me? To respect me?"

"If you are entrusting me to respect your decision to cast me aside, I never will. You say that you love me, yet you are willing to never to see me again."

"It's for our own good," she said with finality.

"I cannot begin to understand you Elizabeth."

"I think you do."

"I cannot. How can you love someone and part from them?" His demeanor cracking, his voice turned hoarse.

"You just do."

"Please. Please, Elizabeth." He asked softly.

Elizabeth couldn't take it. All she wanted was to say yes; yes to anything. She loved him. All she wanted was for him to be happy. This is why she knew she couldn't relent. "Darcy," she started, her voice cracking, threatening to be engulfed by a sob. She took a deep breath in. She knew what she had to do. It was the only way. "You have to go. You can't stay here without my permission. I do not want you to stay here."

He dropped her hand quickly and stepped away from her. "Very well. Very well," he said quietly. "Give me a moment to—" He wasn't sure what he needed. He cleared his throat. "I will leave posthaste."

"Wait. Now?"

"Did you not just ask me to leave?"

"I didn't mean now. Tomorrow."

"I think it would be best to do this now. We would only be delaying the inevitable, causing unnecessary grief."

"You think an extra day is going to make this harder?"

"Yes."

"You're being petty now."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Darcy felt as if he couldn't breathe; an invisible mass lay in his chest, crushing what beat there. Without warning, Elizabeth stepped forward and reached up, crushing her lips against his, pulling him close to her with desperate hands, willing him to know that she loved him still. With her tears wetting his cheeks, he finally gave himself permission to let his own tears mix with hers as he pulled her close and kissed her back.

The kiss was gentle and angry and sad. It did nothing to easy the hole that was growing within Elizabeth or the brick that had lodged within Darcy. This wasn't fair. Yet, Darcy knew this was how the world worked. He had been favored in some ways in his life: his wealth and privilege, loyal friends, and Elizabeth. But life had also taken much from him. He had been granted a handful of weeks with Elizabeth again. He must be grateful. How foolish of him to hope for anything permanent. Life did not work that way.

*There is one more chapter. My goal is to finish it in a week. I can't believe it's taken this long, but I can't give up now!

When I first started this a million years ago, I thought it would just be a funny little story, but it's turned out kinda angsty.


	18. Denouement

Ok, so this is a last chapter, but not the last chapter. I have this ending and an alternative, happier, but unrealistic ending. So I'll post the more "realistic" one today and the other one next.

...

"He left the next day," her voice cracked and she looked up at the ceiling, willing the tears to seep back in. Elizabeth was laying on her back across Meg's seafoam green covered bed, so soft it almost felt like drowning, reliving the past few days, unable to shake the panic in her gut. Meg sat in a chair across from her, looking at her concerned.

She took her hand. "I know it's hard. It's for the best though."

"Is it? I hope so. I feel nervous. Like I'm having a little panic attack all the time. I can cry on command. I miss him. I loved him. I really did. I think I'm realizing that I've never loved anyone like that before and what did I do? I made him leave."

"You made him leave because you loved him."

"I'm never going to see him again." Elizabeth couldn't stop the tears from leaving now. She could feel them trail down the corners of her eyes into her hairline and ears. She flipped over and buried her face in the down comforter. She turned her head to the side. "I'm sorry. You probably didn't think you were inviting over a crying, pathetic loser."

"Well, I wasn't sure about the crying, but you've always been a pathetic loser."

"Har. Har."

Meg stood up and sat gingerly on the corner of the bed and began to smooth Elizabeth's hair. "It's ok. You've got me. We'll get through this."

Elizabeth gave her a crack of smile. "Can I sleep over? I can't go back to an empty apartment again. It's like I _know_ he's not going to be there, but my body doesn't. Or maybe it's my subconscious. Maybe it's the dog part of me. I keep opening the door, expecting a scratch on the ear like so many times before, but there's nothing. But the feeling doesn't go away. I'm just waiting."

Meg frowned. "Of course. As long as you don't mind sharing my bed. My roommate complains when I let people sleep on the couch. She says it scares her. I guess she saw a horror movie where someone sleeps on the couch and then kills people?"

Elizabeth sat up. "Hey. That's a good idea. Let's go see a scary movie. I'll scare the depression out of me."

"That's the spirit."

….

Slowly, time passed. Slowly, the ache dulled. The longing eased. And then one particularly hot and humid July morning, she woke up and smiled. She turned on happy music. She cooked egg toast. She made plans for that night. She welcomed back an old friend: herself. Maybe more than she had missed Darcy, she had missed herself during the last couple of months.

That night she attended a rooftop party Meg had heard about from a friend of a friend. Oddly, it was the first she had been to since the one she went to with Darcy. She smiled at the memory of him trying to drink the punch, glowering at everyone in his view. She took a deep breath in and out and moved on.

Sometime during the night she found herself alone, leaning against a wall and staring at the starless sky nursing a red solo cup when she felt the cold splash of beer down the front of her top. She sprang upright. "What the hell?"

"Oh no. I'm so sorry. I don't even know how that happened. I swear." The perpetrator reached a hand out strait to the stain on her chest to, well his motives were unclear as Elizabeth jumped backwards into wall behind her.

The man took a step back. "I'm so sorry. I have no idea why I did that. I was trying to clean you up? Shit, that doesn't make sense. Anyway, I'm sorry about the drink. And the almost," he paused, turning red, "groping. I'm really sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me right now."

Elizabeth didn't look at him, trying to wring out her top, her hands sticky with beer now. "It's fine. Whatever. It's cool. I was about to go anyway." She gave him a cursory glance. "No worries. Bye."

She started to weave through the crowd, but the beer spiller was back, following her. "Hey. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I, um, I was actually coming to talk to you. And then I screwed it all up. But maybe I could still introduce myself? I live right around the corner from here-"

Elizabeth stopped and rolled her eyes, turning around, "Are you seriously going to invite me to your apartment?" It was dark where they stopped, but she looked up at his face, trying to get a better look. His hair was a dark color, falling across his forehead. Until he ran his fingers through it, pushing it back, leaving it looking wild. He was wearing a grey tee shirt and worn black leather jacket. He was tall, but a little lanky. He shoved his hands into his pocket.

"No! I mean, no, of course not. I just thought I could get you a new tee shirt and bring it here, so you could stay a little longer. I mean, I didn't actually really think it out. About the changing part. Listen, I'm really bad at this, sometimes. This being one of those times, but I've been noticing you all night and I was just coming over to talk to you when I tripped over seriously nothing and that's how you got beer all down your shirt. And then I just wanted to help in some way and but, obviously, that was ridiculous and led to me looking like I was about to grope you, when I would never-"

Elizabeth put her hand up. "Ok. Ok. You seem really sweet. You do. But I was about to go home anyway. I have to get up early," she lied.

"Yeah, ok. I get it. Can I walk you out?"

"Um, sure."

He followed her to the elevator. "Ok. Well, it was nice to meet you." The elevator was lit by large, round florescent light, creating an orange, but bright light.

For the first time Elizabeth could see the guy's face. The brown eyes. The furrowed brow and straight nose. Slightly tanned skin and high cheekbones. Rough stubble running across his jaw and a little down his neck. She peered up at him trying to get a better look. "Darcy?" She asked softly.

"No. It's Will actually. Will Kirkland?"

Elizabeth studied him for a moment longer before she sighed and then laughed. "Are you asking me what your name is?"

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "It's Will. I'm sorry. I'm not usually like this. I have no problem at all with women. Believe me. I have tons of confidence. Sometimes people say too much confidence. My best friend called me arrogant a while ago and I've been trying to work on that." He shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, kicking at imaginary dirt on the ground. "Well, it's clear that I blew it. So, I'm going to go." He gave her a weak smile and pushed the elevator button.

Elizabeth stood there for a moment studying the elevator, something rising in her. "Hey. Wait. I'm sorry. I'm Elizabeth. Elizabeth Eaton. Do you want to go grab something to eat?"

"Really?" The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

"Sure. You're kind of weird but I like that. You look so much like…someone I used to know."

"So far I have weird and looking like someone you know going for me. I'll take it." He smiled at her.

She looked at him for a long moment. He looked like Darcy. He wasn't Darcy, obviously. But something in her was pulling towards him. She decided to go with it. "Where do you want to go?"

...

A month after leaving Elizabeth, Darcy stayed in New York, walking the halls of the house, daring himself to go back to her. He never did. Instead he made arrangements to go back to England; go back to the life he knew and start again. He opened Pemberley to visitors and guests. He attended balls and suppers and played cards. He visited family and acquaintances and family. He even visited Charles and Jane after years of staying away. Jane introduced him to a lady, Cassandra, in town.

She was pretty and intelligent. She moved through society with ease without being consumed by it. She was blond with green eyes with a full, lovely figure. She was the opposite of Elizabeth in every way physically. She wasn't witty or ironic or mischievous. And he could forget about Elizabeth in her company for that.

They married a year after he had sailed back to England. Time travel and Elizabeth were firmly in the past, on a different continent. It was a sweet, springtime wedding at a chapel near her family's estate. Perhaps, Darcy wasn't ardently in love, but he was happy and comforted by her presence and care. Together they had three sons and two daughters and they were content in their family and relations. The years were golden and Pemberley was often filled with children of Georgiana and Charles and Jane.

Darcy grew old and grey and he knew that Elizabeth had been right. Surround by his family, sitting across from his lovely, plump wife, he knew she was right. Even now that he was old, he would sometimes feel the old ache for her. Sometimes he indulged himself to study the painting of Elizabeth Darcy in the gallery, remembering her sharp wit and happy teasing; in his heart thankful for the kindness Elizabeth Eaton gave him that day when she forced him to leave her.


	19. Bliss

Last chapter, alternative chapter. It requires more suspension of belief, but they live happily ever after with each other. Let me know which ending you prefer!

Anyway. Can't believe this took me so long, but I can finally take it off my to do list. Also, feel free it give me any constructive criticism on my writing, if you have tips.

...

"He left the next day." Her voice cracked and she looked up at the ceiling, willing the tears to seep back in. She was laying on her back across Meg's sea foam green covered bed so soft it almost felt like drowning, Meg sitting in a chair across from her.

"I know it's hard. It's for the best though."

"Is it? I hope so. I feel nervous. Like I'm having a little panic attack all the time. I can cry on command. I miss him. I loved him. I really did. I think I'm realizing that I've never loved anyone like that before and I made him leave."

"You made him leave because you loved him."

"I'm never going to see him again." Elizabeth couldn't stop the tears from leaving now. She could feel them trail down the corners of her eyes into her hairline and ears. She flipped over and buried her face in the down comforter. She turned her head to the side. "I'm sorry. You probably didn't think you were inviting over a crying pathetic loser."

"Well, I wasn't sure about the crying, but you've always been a pathetic loser."

"Har. Har."

Meg sat on the corner of the bed and began to smooth Elizabeth's hair. "It's ok. You've got me. We'll get through this."

"Can I sleep over? I can't go back to an empty apartment again. It's like I _know_ he's not going to be there, but my body doesn't. Or maybe it's my subconscious. Maybe it's the dog part of me. I keep opening the door, expecting a scratch on the ear like so many times before, but there's nothing. But the feeling doesn't go away. I'm just waiting."

"Of course. As long as you don't mind sharing my bed. My roommate complains when I let people sleep on the couch. She says in scares her."

"That's a good idea. Let's go see a scary movie. I'll scare the depression out of me."

"That's the spirit."

Time passed both quickly and slowly. It had been more than a year since she first met him. She still thought about him often, enough to drive her a little crazy, but was she was able to think of him less, sometimes succeeding. At times it was a clear ache and she could list a hundred things she missed about him from his smile and his hands to his curiosity and conversation to his warmth and the solidness of his presence. But, recently, more times than not, she almost couldn't say why exactly she missed him. Finally, she was moving on. The rush of that feeling was exhilarating.

When he had first left and the grief was raw, she had begun to see him around the city. The first time she was walking along the river to meet a friend when she spotted him. On second glance it wasn't him; just a tall stranger, nobody to her. This began to happen too often. Out of the corner of her eye, she would spot someone who looked like Darcy. Her heart suddenly thumping and her hands shaking until a second glance confirmed it was not him. These moments happened less and less, but her mind was so used to being tricked by his phantom visage, that she wasn't surprised when she thought she saw him on her run one warm October morning

She slowed to take a second glance, but the man ahead on the park bench still looked like him. His hair was longer. He kept a week's growth of beard. He seemed more relaxed than Darcy had ever been on a park bench or anywhere besides her apartment for that matter. He was bent over a book, his legs stretched out in front of him. He was wearing dark jeans and a green button down short sleeve shirt. He was long and lean and her heart was about to drop out of her chest because he wasn't morphing into a stranger. She took her ear buds out and draped them around her neck, walking slowly along the path towards the park bench.

"Darcy?" Her voice came out as a whisper.

The man looked up. His brow furrowed over those familiar brown eyes Elizabeth had once described as being the color of a bayou. "Elizabeth." He said softly. "Elizabeth. I never meant-" He put his book aside and stood, reaching for her, but deciding against it. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Darcy? What are you doing here? I can't believe it's you. How did you get here? Why are you here? Wait. It's you, isn't? I'm not going crazy?"

Darcy seemed at lost for words. He reached out to grab her hands, but stopped and brought them back down to his sides. "You're not crazy. Elizabeth, I have so much to tell you. But this isn't how I meant for you to find me. I was planning to come see you soon. I truly was. I've missed you. Inordinately. You must believe that."

"You were planning to see me soon?" She sat on the bench staring ahead to try a get her bearings and he sat down beside her.

"It's complicated. I have so much to tell you."

"This is surreal. I don't think I've ever used that word correctly until now." Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief. She reached her hand up to stroke the harsh stubble on his face, poking her finger in his cheek and then smoothing his earlobe between her fingers, her hands trembling. He smiled slightly before she began, "I never thought I would see you again. You're really here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She dropped her hands, shaking her head and then putting her earbuds back in. "I can't do this right now. I have to finish my run." She could feel tears welling in her eyes, a flurry of emotions coursing through her as she tried to process his presence. Quickly, she stood and began to sprint away.

"Elizabeth—" Darcy called as she jogged away. Puzzled, Darcy stayed at the park bench, waiting. He waited for twenty minutes before Elizabeth came sprinting back.

"Darcy," she wheezed, leaning down and putting her hands on her knees. "I…sorry…" She put her finger up, asking for minute as she caught her breath. Darcy looked at her expectantly willing himself not to smirk at her gasping for breath, face bright red. But underneath his amusement he was afraid of what she would say. In his plans, she would see the final product and understand why he didn't come to her immediately. He knew what it would look like to Elizabeth to have him lounging in the park in the 21st century without ever having contacted her.

"Elizabeth I know what you must think of me. I know this looks deceitful, among a number of other things, but it has all been for you."

Regaining her breath, she wiped the sweat from her brow, choking out, "Can you walk with me?"

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

They began to walk down the trail. Elizabeth stayed silent, with so much to say she didn't know where to begin. Her silence began filling him with trepidation. He couldn't help but try to explain.

"I did go back to my time at first. As you know. I lived in my townhouse in New York for a month, but I was miserable. The knowledge that you were out there, living, speaking, laughing, being and I was missing it. I tortured myself for hours thinking of what you were doing and the plans you were making. I began to make my own plans to sail back to England and reestablish a life there and find a suitable wife. But the week I was meant to board the ship, I became very ill. I suffered from an exceedingly high fever so much so that I was bedridden for weeks. I overheard the doctor speaking to my valet that I was close to death. I began convinced also that I was to die, but I was so— I was so frightened, to be honest. I knew I couldn't die, not yet. When I finally healed and I had strength to leave my bed I knew what I must do. I knew that there was no life worth living that was not by your side. But, I knew I could not show up to your door penniless and living off your charity."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, Darcy spoke quickly to stop her, "I know you never resented it, but I knew for our lives together to work, I needed something of my own. I needed to be somewhat of a person of the 21st century. To have a life with and apart from you.

When you were at the hospital, I often filled my days Googling and learning as much as could, as you know. But I refrained from divulging that I was also learning about social security cards and birth certificates and apartment leases as a matter of precaution in the event that you could not come back with me."

"But, you never said anything about that. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You seemed so certain that we could not make each other happy, that I became convinced also. We are from two very different societies. Either one of us would be forever out of place. One of us cleaving on to the other. I began to understand your position, but being without you made me realize I would live any life to just to live it with you."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak and then closed it.

"I took everything that would be of value here. I sold whatever property I had and exchanged it for gold and silver. I took any adornments or items of value I could transport in the pockets of my great coat and a bag. The first day I took everything to a few places I researched: pawn shops, jewelry stores, antique dealers, et cetera. From there I had enough money to secure a very small apartment and begin to take classes to receive my GED next week. My plan is to apply to some local universities by the end of November."

Elizabeth's head swam. She stopped suddenly. "This is insane. How are you doing this without any ID?"

Darcy shrugged. "Here I had to bend a few principles of mine. I had to get fake papers."

"What? How? _I_ don't even know how to do that."

"It's all on the internet, Elizabeth. It only takes some research."

"Okay. Fine. So you are here with a fake birth certificate, social security card, state ID? And you are going to be attending college next fall. And you have your own apartment. Totally normal. I think I need a minute." She walked into the grass and leaned against the nearest tree. Darcy stood in front of her, his hand moving to touch her and pulling away before he did. She sat in the grass and began to fiddle with the grass, pulling it slowly out of the earth, blade by blade. He sat carefully next to her.

"Well, how do you like it?" She asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"How do you like living here? On your own?"

He hesitated. "I've grown accustom to it. In some ways I quite prefer it. I like reading on a bench in the park without the faintest idea of who anyone is around me and no fear that anyone will come to introduce their niece or grandmother or uncle's cousin. Other days I am quite overwhelmed. I am lonely. But I've been trying to build something. I believe I am succeeding despite the snail's pace."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"After I received my acceptance to university."

"That could be in the spring! Darcy…"

"Don't be angry, Elizabeth. I wanted something solid, so you could see I could build a life here too."

Elizabeth let out a sigh. "I'm just, I'm overwhelmed a bit." She shrugged. "I mean look at you, you're sitting in the grass, looking almost comfortable. The way you talk has changed a little too."

"Elizabeth, I know we've only just been reunited, but are you…courting anyone?"

"No."

"Are your feelings as they once were? Do you think it's possible that we might have a life together?"

"Darcy, I love you. I do. I still love you." He smiled broadly and leaned over, capturing her mouth with his.

After a moment, she broke the kiss, covering her face with her hands and let out a groan. "I think I need a moment or two. It's like…" she paused to find the right words, moving her hands down her face to cover her mouth before reaching out for his hands. "It's like you're back from the dead. I thought I would never see you again. I mourned for you. And now your back, but just not back. You're different."

Darcy pulled his hands back, frowning, "Different?"

"Besides sitting in the grass, you have an apartment, and plans, and I don't know, everything. It's good; it's just- I feel like I have whiplash." She gave him a small smile. "Saying this out loud is helping my brain get that this is reality, though. I'm just trying to process this. You."

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

After a while, Darcy finally spoke. "You are angry with me."

Elizabeth groaned softly. "The thing is- I'm not. I feel like maybe I should be. Should I be? Darcy. I'm happy to see you. I'm just processing. This is kind of a bombshell." She lightly touched his chin and then his cheek. She slid her hand down the cotton of his sleeve then to the warm skin of his exposed arms and then settled her fingertips in his hand, pinching his fingertips. "I wish you would have told me you've been here this whole time." He began to speak, but she interrupted him. "But, I can see why you didn't. I've missed you so much. I've thought about you every day. If we—if I did the right thing."

"Let's not spend time talking about regrets and the past. All I want is this. Do you- I mean to say—Are we—"

She stopped him. "Can I see your apartment?"

He smiled and stood up, brushing off his jeans. "It's actually in the neighborhood. I have to warn you though, it's quite small. Not even a bedroom. It is two rooms, with the, er, bathroom." He reached out his hand to help her up. She grabbed it, relishing for a moment the feel of her hand in his, the shiver it sent through her body.

She stood up and squeezed his hand softly. "I'm impressed, Darcy. Renting an apartment, everything. That must have difficult to navigate."

"Yes and no. I bought the apartment, actually. I could not bring myself to have a landlord. Call me a snob if you'd like."

"You bought a place? Wow."

"I want to remind you that it's very small."

"Well, in that case, I'll have to take back my 'wow," she teased.

The walk to his apartment was twenty minutes. He filled her in on the process of taking the SATs, the long nights studying, the frustrations of failing practice tests. There was an ease about him still that was new to her. She could exactly explain how she knew was different; he just was.

They arrived at small building with a store front bodega and walked up three flights of stairs to a blue door.

"This is it," Darcy said softly, pulling a key out his pocket and putting it into the door, his hand shaky.

"Are you nervous?" She smiled at him, teasingly.

He turned to her, hand resting on the door knob. "Yes," he said frankly. "Everything I've done these three months has been building to this. Now, you're finally here." He turned back to the door and pushed it open.

It was small, but cozy with brick walls and a fireplace. The kitchen area was directly to the left with a mini fridge and stove. A simple, but high wooden bed was pushed into the furthest corner, next to a large window with long cream curtains. The bed had been carefully made with dark green blanket and wrinkled linen sheets. A grey couch was on the wall facing the fireplace with stacks of books piled on other side. There was a wooden oval coffee table in front of it, with neat stack of papers and jar full of pens. Next to the fireplace were more stacks of books of various genres and age.

Her heart ached at the room. The sight of his work and study and careful neatness. The thought of him here alone here all these months. The clean smell of him in the apartment that reminded her mint and rosemary. It was suddenly real to her. He was here. He was here for good.

He turned to her and shrugged and before she knew what she was about she kissed quickly and softly on the lips. She stepped back, blushing. "This is tiny," she said gesturing to the room.

"It's 300 square feet."

"At least you can have a bed and a couch."

"It doesn't matter all that much as I have no visitors. You are my first."

"No kidding. Why did you choose this neighborhood?"

"It was the only other area I knew besides yours. I couldn't reside there for obvious reasons."

"Yeah." Elizabeth colored and walked over to look out the window- a dismal view of any alley way.

The silence became awkward. There was too much to say for things to be said casually.

Darcy finally forced himself to speak and to be frank. "Things keep changing so rapidly between us. One moment we are kissing, now we are acting as if we are mere acquaintances."

Elizabeth ducked her head and kicked at invisible dirt on the ground, unsure of what to say. "Not what you were envisioning for us?"

He laughed softly. "Not at all. I thought I would get accepted into the university and then go to your apartment. I would explain that I couldn't live any life without you and that I was determined to live and work here. I would tell you that I had an apartment, an acceptance letter to university, and a small income, and—"

"Do you?" Elizabeth interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"Do you have a small income? I mean, you have a job?"

"Yes. For now I am a shop assistant at an antique store. But I hope to one teach history at a university."

Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows in surprise. "How do you pay for everything?"

Darcy paused.

"Sorry, sorry. Too nosey. Too personal."

"No." He took her hand. "No. Nothing is too personal. I'm doing this for you. I'm just not accustomed to speaking of money in such a way. I bought this apartment out right. With the money I made selling what I had brought here. It was an extraordinary 400,000 dollars. I was still able to deposit some savings into a bank. But I _am_ poor, Elizabeth. All I own is 300 square feet and I have but 100,000 left in a savings account for my tuition. I have not much to offer but myself. I have only the hope of the future. I know I cannot take care of you in the way that I would wish, that you deserve, but I will love you the rest of my life. I will support you and debate with you and cook for you and listen to you and even brave my fear heights for you. You need only to say yes."

Elizabeth felt the tears in her eyes as she up reached and lightly touched the stubble on his chin and then laced her fingers in his. "Darce. I love you. I do. It's just been so long. I haven't seen you nine months. I was so empty when you left and I've just gotten to the place where I'm starting to feel whole and then you're back. Again. I want to start right back up with you. But I'm scared. I mean it might take a while for me to get there again."

He let go of her hand, studying her face with a crinkled brow.

"Then may I court you?"

"Like a date?"

"Yes, let's," he paused thinking of the right words. "Let's go slowly. No expectations."

"Okay," Elizabeth smiled.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

"Yes."

"Is this as slow as you were hoping?"

Elizabeth laughed, relaxing, "I've missed you so."

He reached out to give her a tentative embrace, but as Elizabeth stepped closer to his body, he couldn't help but pull her close and lay his cheek on the top her head, inhaling her scent and relishing her warmth, her being. It had been a long, lonely year and he was finally here with her. He felt his body relax as a feeling flooded through him that he hadn't felt in a long time. Bliss.


End file.
